When the Light Goes Out
by nonadhesiveness
Summary: 'And in a heartbeat, Will was thirteen years old again, opening the front door of the car, his mother's face a grimace as she gasped her final breaths. Only it wasn't his mother, not this time. It was Lizzie.' Post-S4. When Elizabeth is shot before she can announce her run for the presidency, survival is only the first step. Will she open up before her light goes out?
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Post-S4. Elizabeth has her heart set on the presidency, but what will happen when she is shot before she can announce? Survival is only the first step. Will those who care for her be able to help her before she fades into darkness?

* * *

 **When the Light Goes Out**

 **Chapter One**

 **The Day It Happened**

 **Elizabeth**

"Will?" Elizabeth strode into her office, stopped and peered around. They had ten minutes until the car arrived to take them to the White House. Now was really not the time to go walkabouts.

"In here," Will called from the bathroom. He was stood in front of the mirror, his fingers fumbling over the knot in his tie.

"Here." Elizabeth stepped forward and straightened it out for him.

"You don't need to mother me."

"How's that mothering you? There." Elizabeth smoothed the wrinkles from his shirt. "Henry doesn't complain when I sort out his tie."

"That's probably because you wedge your leg—" Will began, but stopped as Elizabeth slapped his chest. She fought back the blush that threatened to surge through her cheeks. Will smirked in reply.

Elizabeth clicked her tongue. _So immature._ The phone rang, and thankful for the interruption, she dashed across the room to retrieve it from its cradle. "Hello?"

"Hey, babe." Henry's voice crackled down the line.

Elizabeth smiled. "Hey, you." She leant back against the desk and twisted the cord around her finger. "You not boarded yet?"

"No," Henry said. The airport tannoy chimed in the background. "I'm at the gate now, just waiting. I thought I'd call to see how things are going before the big presentation. How's your date?"

Elizabeth's gaze followed Will as he emerged from the bathroom. "Tall, blonde and scruffy. I'm thinking of ditching him before we get there."

Henry chuckled. "Just play nice."

Elizabeth bit her lip. "Only if I get to be naughty with you later."

Will shot her a look. "I can hear you, you know?"

Elizabeth turned her back on him. The line buzzed; a second call. "Babe, I've got to go."

"All right. I'll see you later," Henry said. "I love you."

"I like you okay too," Elizabeth said through her smile. "Stay safe, won't you?"

"I promise."

Elizabeth hung up and answered the second call. It was Blake. "Ma'am, the car is waiting for you."

* * *

The furniture had been cleared out of the room in the White House, leaving the floor open for the guests and press at the presentation. The major networks had already set up their cameras just below the stage at the far end of the room, whilst photographers lingered at the edges. Guests were already filing in and filling up all the spaces in between.

"Ma'am." Jay stepped forward into Elizabeth's path as she strode towards the entrance, Will at her side. He had a clipboard grasped in hand, and a look of mild anguish on his face. "Don't worry; it's not about today—"

"But?" Elizabeth dragged out the word. There had to be a 'but'; there was always a 'but'.

"But," Jay continued, and he winced at the word almost as much as she did, "China have requested a tiny change to the deal we agreed."

Elizabeth resisted the urge to groan. The whole point of the _agreed_ deal was that it had been _agreed_. "What now? We've already gone through every last detail a gazillion times."

"Yes, ma'am, but there's been a slight change of wording in the final clause."

"How slight?" Elizabeth accepted the clipboard and scanned over the page. She glanced around. The Secret Service agents were beginning to swarm the corridor, a sure sign that President Dalton was on his way. "Accept the change. I need this deal signed by the end of the day."

"Yes, ma'am." Jay took the clipboard back and rushed away again.

"So, where do I stand?" Will asked.

"At the back," Elizabeth said. "And I already know your thoughts on our policies, so you don't need to share them with anyone else." She gave him a hard look. Will had spent two hours the night before picking apart today's presentation with his usual idealistic flair.

"And here I was thinking that we were going to have a nice sibling day out." He feigned a hurt look, and somehow it still stung as much as if it had been real. At least he had made the effort to show up today.

"You're right. I'm sorry." The tension in her shoulders eased a fraction. "I'm just stressed."

"I hadn't noticed."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, but nudged his elbow, a small sign of reconciliation. "I'll see you after." She strode through the centre of the gathering to the stage at the opposite end. Russell was already waiting by the podium, Stevie hovering at his side, notebook and pen in hand. Elizabeth pressed a kiss to her daughter's forehead. "Hey, baby."

"Hey, Mom." Stevie's gaze darted to the back of the room. "Uncle Will's here?"

"Yeah." Elizabeth glanced back, and Will raised his hand in a half wave to them both. "Since your dad couldn't make it, your uncle decided to tag along. He's been driving me insane all morning." She shook her head to herself. "But we've made it here. Any last notes, Russell?"

Russell looked up from his phone. "Just don't mess anything up."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at him, but he had already returned to his screen. She looked to Stevie, whose gaze darted back and forth between Russell and herself. She pointed to the back of the room. "I'm just gonna…" And with that, she stepped down off the stage, teetering in her heels, and slipped through the crowd. When she reached the back, she hugged Will, and then they stood side by side, chatting away.

"You seem a bit snarky today," Elizabeth said to Russell. "Even more so than usual."

Russell motioned for her to turn around, so that they both stood with their backs to the cameras. He lowered his voice so that even the most sensitive microphone wouldn't pick up his words. "There was a security alert this morning." He stuffed his phone back into his pocket. "Fortunately it looks like it was a false alarm."

The smile faded from Elizabeth's lips. "Looks like, or was?" There was a big difference.

"Was. The FBI assures me that the threat wasn't credible. But nevertheless, it turned a hectic day into a logistical nightmare."

Behind them, the cameras erupted in flashes, along with the fluster of shutters. They turned around. President Dalton was striding along the corridor towards the presentation room, a cage of security around him. Russell touched his hand to Elizabeth's arm. "Remember what I said. The sooner this whole charade is over, the better."

"It's not a charade, Russell; it's diplomacy."

"Is that what you call it?" Russell stepped down from the stage and pushed his way through the line of cameras to join the other members of staff towards the back of room.

* * *

 **Will**

Will craned his neck over the hum of bodies. The guests had pushed forward as much as they could, leaving only a narrow band between the front row and the stage. The agents of the Secret Service had formed a barrier to keep them back, and only the cameras ventured into the strip in between.

President Dalton was stood at Elizabeth's side. He dipped his head down to whisper into her ear. Elizabeth paused, her brow pinched, then nodded. President Dalton stepped forward, towards the podium. Sunlight filtered through from the windows that arced behind the stage, offering the room a golden glow and heightening the scent of aftershave, cheap perfume, and sweat that clogged the air.

Dalton hesitated. He looked back to Elizabeth, and Elizabeth hurried to meet him.

There was a pop. One of the glass windows smashed. Then silence. Will's heart raced. Gunfire. Screams rang out from the crowd. Everyone surged towards the door whilst the security agents flooded to the front of the room. All the cameras spun to the stage and a lightning storm of flashes commenced.

Stevie gripped Will's hand. Her eyes were wide, the blood drained from her face. "Where's Mom, Uncle Will? Where is she?"

"Stay here." Will pushed forward. He tried to duck through the guests, but they swarmed past him like agitated bees.

Through the commotion came Dalton's shout. "Call an ambulance." Followed by a second cry, the urgency escalating. "We need a paramedic here now!"

Will ran. His heart thumped— _Lizzie, Lizzie, Lizzie_. His hands shielded his face as he dived through the crowd and towards the stage. The flashes were still going off, the only people remaining at the front were the camera crews and the security agents.

"Sir." One of the agents stepped in front of Will, his hand held out. "You can't—"

"I'm a doctor," Will said. "I'm a—" But the word died as the line of agents stepped back. And in a heartbeat, he was thirteen years old again, opening the front door of the car, his mother's face a grimace as she gasped her final breaths. Only it wasn't his mother, not this time. It was Lizzie.

Elizabeth was lying on the stage, skin ashen, breaths ragged and fast as blood blossomed through her shirt. President Dalton was at her side, cradling her head as she fought for each breath. Will's mind went blank, but only for a moment. He wasn't a scared thirteen year old any more, he had practised all of his adult life for this moment, and he knew what to do.

Will jumped up onto the stage. He shucked off his jacket and threw it onto the floor. "Turn her onto her side." He rolled up his shirt sleeves and then knelt down to help Dalton ease her over slightly, so that the wound was facing down. "It's okay, Lizzie. Just breathe."

One of the security agents stepped forward and tapped Dalton's shoulder. "Sir, we need to get you to a—"

Dalton snapped. "I'm not leaving her." And the look on his face dared anyone to force him.

"Sir," the agent tried again. "The area isn't secured."

"Then secure it, goddamn it!" Dalton shouted. "And where the hell is that ambulance?"

Will leant in and tore open Elizabeth's blouse, revealing the blood stained skin beneath. As he did, she coughed, and a mist of blood sprayed his shirt. Her lungs. The bullet had passed through her upper chest, right side. "I need a medical kit. Now."

"You heard him." Dalton looked up at the security agents. "Go! And will someone clear out those cameras."

Will's stomach clenched. The cameras were still rolling. Those ghouls were filming his sister. But he didn't have time to think about that, not now. He pressed down on the wound, the blood slick and warm beneath his hands.

"Will." Elizabeth gasped. She coughed again; this time large droplets of blood sprayed out. When they were younger, their mother would paint her lips the most brilliant shade of red. Elizabeth had stolen the lipstick and copied once. _Red is for adults_ , their mother had chided. But no one's lips could be more mature than Lizzie's were right now.

Will stroked her hair back from her face. "Don't talk. Just focus on your breathing. Nice and slow. Okay?"

"Stevie…" Elizabeth's face twisted with a different kind of pain.

Will looked over his shoulder. Stevie was hovering just paces away. Her lips were moving, but no words were coming out. Will nodded his head to the nearest agent. "Get her out of here. Now." No child should see their mother die.

An agent ran to the stage and knelt down next to Will. He unzipped the medical kit, laying out the supplies. "What do you need?"

"Two squares of plastic and some tape." His hands slipped over Elizabeth's skin as he tried to maintain the pressure. The agent passed him the first piece of plastic, and he placed it on top of the exit wound. Elizabeth groaned. "I'm sorry, Lizzie, but this is going to hurt. I need you to breathe out as hard as you can."

Elizabeth nodded. But she had barely started to exhale when she stopped. "I can't—"

Dalton took hold of her hand. "Breathe out, Bess. Just squeeze my hand."

Elizabeth tried again. As she pushed the air from her lungs, Will pressed the plastic down over the wound. "Tape. Three strips. One at the top, two on the sides." He stared down at his sister as the patch of plastic was secured. She was getting paler. "Good job, Lizzie. Just one more."

Will took the second patch and applied it to the entry wound. "Breath out again."

Elizabeth exhaled, her hand clutching Dalton's so tight that his skin blanched as pale as hers. If the grip hurt, his face didn't show it. Will pressed the plastic in place whilst the agent stuck it down, just as he had done with the first.

"Paramedics are here." The cry came from the door, followed by the clatter of the stretcher trolley and the pounding of footsteps.

 _Thank God_. Will looked to the two paramedics as they joined him on stage. "Gunshot wound to the chest, penetrating the apex of the right lung. Through and through. Suspected haemopneumothorax. I'm going to perform a needle decompression and then straight into the ambulance. I need a large bore needle, and let's get her on oxygen and see if we can get a line in before her veins collapse. I want painkillers and fluids." He looked up at Dalton. "Ease her onto her back."

Will took the swab from the paramedic and quickly cleaned the skin over her ribs. He took the needle— _second intercostal space, midclavicular line_ —allowed one quick glance to Elizabeth's face—"I'm sorry"—and then pushed the needle in between her ribs. There was a _pop_ as the needle punctured the pleura. Blood squirted out and spattered over Will and the floor. Elizabeth bit down on her lip, cheeks sucked in as she barely suppressed a cry of pain. Will removed the needle, leaving the catheter in place.

"Right. Let's get her onto the stretcher and get going."

"Will?" Elizabeth pulled off her oxygen mask. Her voice was ragged. "Henry…Tell him…"

Will shook his head. "None of that, thank you." He pushed the mask back in place as the paramedics prepared to scoop her onto the stretcher.

Elizabeth's gaze flickered up towards Dalton. Dalton clutched her hand between his own. "Henry's on his way, Bess. You can tell him yourself."

The paramedics lifted her onto the trolley. Will laid the oxygen canister beside her, and then picked up his jacket and placed it gently over her chest. No doubts camera crews would by vying for a shot of the Secretary of State's last moments, and she deserved whatever dignity he could afford her. "We're going to move fast now, Lizzie. Okay?"

Elizabeth nodded. And she closed her eyes.

Will leant closer and patted her cheek. "Hey, eyes open."

"Ready?" the paramedic asked.

"Just check her blood pressure quickly," Will said. They waited for an eternity as the cuff whirred and inflated. But then the air escaped with a _pfft_ , and the machine gave a bleep of protest. The fluids flowing into her veins weren't enough. "Let's go. As fast as we can, please."

The paramedics wheeled the trolley through the corridors of the White House. They moved as quickly as they could without jolting the stretcher. Will ran alongside, one hand clutching Lizzie's. She was clammy to the touch. Her eyelashes fluttered for a moment and then fell shut.

Hordes of camera crews were waiting outside, all lenses focused on Elizabeth as the paramedics loaded her into the back of the ambulance. Once the trolley was secured and the door closed, Will turned to the paramedic who remained in the back with him. "Phone ahead and make sure that they have the theatre ready. We're going to need a chest drain. And let them know that she's haemodynamically unstable and will most likely require an emergency thoracotomy to stop the bleeding."

The paramedic nodded. The ambulance lurched into motion and the wail of sirens commenced. Will reached up and squeezed the bag of fluids that hung above the stretcher. Saline wasn't enough. She needed blood.

* * *

 **Stevie**

Stevie stared over her shoulder as the agent marched her away from the stage. Uncle Will was leant over her mother, his shirt spattered with her blood, and as Elizabeth clutched President Dalton's hand, she gave a sharp cry of pain. Stevie stalled, but the agent's arm around her back propelled her forwards and guided her into Russell Jackson's office.

Russell pulled out a chair for her. "Sit down."

"I…" Stevie choked. Words flurried through her mind, but none would come to her tongue.

Russell pushed a glass of water towards her, and then sat down next to her. He leant forward. "We have agents on the way to collect your brother and sister, but we can't get through to your father."

"He…" Stevie stopped and took a sip of water, but even that stuck in her throat.

"This is important." Russell moved as if to cover her hand with his own, but then stopped. He tapped the air instead. "We need to get your father to the hospital as quickly as possible, do you understand me?"

Stevie nodded. "He's…uh…he's flying back from Pittsburgh. I…" She fumbled for her phone and unlocked the screen. "…uh…I have the details." She slid the phone across the table.

Russell picked it up, and pulled out his own phone. He relayed the details to whoever was on the other end and then called for a car to be brought round. He looked to Stevie. "I'm going to the airport. Max will take you down to the bunker." Russell signalled and the agent who had escorted her to the office stepped forward.

"I want to go to the hospital." Stevie stood up from the chair, but her legs wavered beneath her and she had to grip hold of the table for support. "I need to be with my mom." Just then there came the clatter of a trolley, and the stretcher carrying her mother zipped past the door, Uncle Will running alongside. Stevie looked back to Russell, her pulse surging. "I need to be there."

Russell shook his head. He grabbed his jacket and pulled it on. "This is what your mother would have wanted, to know that you're safe." Russell waved Max forward, and Max lay a gentle yet persistent hand on Stevie's shoulder.

"This way, Miss McCord."

Stevie allowed him to guide her as far as the door. But then she paused and turned back to Russell. "Is my mom going to die?"

Russell tucked his phone into his pocket. He met Stevie's eye for a flicker of a moment, and then looked away again. "I…I'll let you know when we hear anything. I need to get to your father." He pushed past, one hand glancing over Stevie's arm, and then he strode away down the corridor.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

 **Henry**

The plane taxied and came to a halt outside the terminal. All around, people began to unbuckle and climb out of their seats. The flight hadn't even taken an hour, yet people were already grabbing for their carry-ons. Until the announcement came over the tannoy.

"For security purposes, we request that all passengers remain in their seats. I repeat: All passengers are to remain in their seats until further notice."

Henry's heart beat a little faster. The other passengers hesitated, as if unsure if the message truly applied to them or not, but as two men in black suits boarded the plane, everyone sat down. The flight attendant pointed towards Henry, and one of the men began to stride down the aisle. Henry's stomach lurched. His heart pounded _Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Elizabeth_. And in his mind, he prayed that the man would sail past.

"Dr McCord." The man stopped just in front of Henry's seat. "If you'd collect your belongings and come with me."

"My wife?" Those were the only words that he could muster, everything else was a blur.

"Sir." The man looked like he was fighting back a grimace, and there was something else—pity?—in his eyes. "Please." He motioned towards the front of the plane and the waiting passenger bridge.

Blood pulsed through Henry's ears, matching his pace stride for stride as he followed the two agents across the bridge and into the terminal. Inside was eerily silent, the air still. It felt like a three AM run, when the streets were empty and no noise filtered out from the houses, and for a moment you could believe that time had ceased and you were the only one still breathing.

Crowds of people had gathered around the television screens that hung from every wall. And splashed across each screen were the words: _Secretary of State, Elizabeth McCord, Shot_.

Henry stopped. His heart stopped. The world stopped. The agents tried to usher him on, but he was frozen. He stared up at the screens.

"Earlier today, Secretary of State, Elizabeth McCord, was shot through the chest during a presentation at the White House." The news anchor looked straight into the camera, and it felt as though she was talking directly to him. "White House security neutralised the shooter within seconds. We head now to Molly, who was at the scene."

The screen split. One side showed the reporter, the other showed a still of Elizabeth and Conrad side by side on stage. The reporter took over. "The presentation was about to begin when a shot was fired through the window from the grounds and hit Secretary McCord in the chest. It's not yet known who the bullet was intended for, and there's speculation that perhaps this was an assassination attempt on President Dalton. We have footage from the moment that it happened. We advise viewers with younger children present to turn away."

Henry gripped his mouth. There was a gunshot and then screams. Elizabeth looked down at her chest as blood unfurled like a rosebud across her shirt. She stumbled. Dalton caught her. He lowered her to the stage.

"Henry." Russell Jackson stepped in front of him. "Henry, you don't want to watch this."

But Henry couldn't move. The words just washed over him. Elizabeth lay on the stage, her head resting against Conrad's knees as Conrad shouted for help. Elizabeth's face was torn with pain, spittles of blood breaking from her lips. The image of her lingered on screen and burned itself into Henry's mind. Then Will was beside her. The two Adams siblings together. "It's okay, Lizzie. Just breathe."

The footage cut away, the screen now showing the reporter at the White House next to the anchor in the studio. "And how does the situation stand now?" the anchor asked.

"Secretary McCord was taken to hospital in an ambulance," the reporter replied after a pause. "We are yet to receive a statement from the White House."

"Henry." Russell took hold of Henry's elbow. "The car's waiting. We're going to take you to the hospital." He nodded to the agents, and they took their positions on either side of Henry and half-nudged, half-dragged him along.

Henry's mind was still reeling. They had walked from the airport to the car, but all he could see was Elizabeth's face and the blood, her precious blood, spilling onto her shirt, onto her lips. The car started and the driver flipped on the sirens. They blared through the background of his mind.

Henry turned to Russell. He swallowed. "Is she dead?"

Russell had been watching him, his head not buried in his phone for once, as if he had been waiting for the question to come. "Her brother attended to her at the scene. She was taken into surgery as soon as the ambulance arrived. I don't know anything else."

"Is she going to die?" The words clung to his throat.

"I…" Russell began. He shook his head and looked away. "Bess is a fighter."

* * *

Dozens of reporters had gathered outside the hospital. They were held back by a barricade, but still they leant over with their microphones and cameras, everyone in search of a stray word or an image that they could use to enhance their coverage. Henry's stomach tightened. They were like piranhas, frenzied at a drop of blood.

Russell led the way, Henry tucked in behind with the two security agents at the flanks. The cameras flashed, an endless dazzle in the corner of Henry's eye. They tracked his movements up to the door, until he disappeared into the buzz of artificial light.

"They have more footage than what you saw earlier," Russell said. They weaved through the members of White House security who had swarmed the corridors like termites. "We've managed to use threats to suppress it for now, but I can't promise that it won't come out." He added in a mutter, "They shouldn't have shown any of it at all."

Henry just nodded. His head was swimming and his heart pounded too fast to allow any coherent speech. What footage hadn't they shown? How had his tragedy turned into a…a spectacle?

"Dr McCord." The nurse gave him a grim smile. "If you'd like to come this way, I'll show you to the family room."

"My brother-in-law?" Henry followed the nurse down the corridor.

"He's already waiting in there, along with the president."

Henry nodded. He stopped outside the door. He turned back to look at the nurse. "Is there any news?"

The nurse's gaze dipped, and she shook her head. "As soon as we hear anything, we'll let you know. And if there's anything we can do for you in the meantime, just come and find us."

Henry nodded again as the nurse turned and left. He held the door handle, clutched it tight, but for some reason couldn't turn it. Will was in there. Will, who had been there with Elizabeth, not him. Will, who had fought to save her life. Henry took a deep breath. It shook through him. He entered.

When the door shut behind him, it was so silent that it felt as though he had stepped into a vacuum. Will and Conrad both rose to their feet. Their expressions made the nurse's sombre face look cheery. Conrad's shirt was covered in a fine mist of blood, but Will's pale blue shirt was stained deep red. Henry swallowed, but a lump stuck in this throat. Everywhere, her blood was everywhere. Spattered and smeared and sprayed.

"Henry." Conrad stepped forward, but Henry's gaze clung to Will's shirt. "I'm so sorry. I…You know how much I care for Bess. I'm truly sorry."

Henry pinched the bridge of his nose, as if to stem the tears. But none had yet appeared. It was too raw, too sudden; it didn't feel real. "Is she…?" he began, but didn't know how to complete the sentence.

"Still in surgery," Will said. His voice was thick. "The bullet passed through her lung." He paused. His gaze fell to his hands. They were stained with her blood too. "I'm sorry…you probably don't want to hear—"

Henry cleared his throat. "Tell me. I need to know." As painful as it was, he needed to know. He hadn't seen those final moments, what happened after the television screens cut out. Just knowing, it felt like it might bring him closer to her.

Will nodded, as though he understood. But how could he understand? How could any of them understand? None of them knew Elizabeth like he did. None of them had woken up early just to catch a glimpse of her still sleeping. None of them had spent hours thinking up bad jokes just to hear her laugh. None of them had held her so tight—

"The space around her lung was filling up with air and blood," Will said. Henry's mind flitted back to the room—the room that someone had decorated so colourfully, but that would never be rid of the shadows of grief and death. "When the paramedics arrived, I used a needle to relieve some of the pressure, but she was still bleeding out. Her blood pressure was very low. We gave her fluids in the ambulance, but she had lost consciousness by the time that we arrived. The surgeons are opening her chest to try to repair the tissue."

The words washed over him. If he'd been asked to repeat it, he wouldn't know where to begin, other than to say that it was bad, that it should never have happened, that everything was wrong. His gaze darted up to meet Will's eye. "What—" he tugged at his mouth "What are her chances?"

Will shook his head and backed away a step. Conrad laid a hand on Henry's shoulder and said, "Henry, let's not—"

"Will, please," Henry said. Not knowing wouldn't help; it wouldn't change the outcome. "Just tell me."

Will stared hard at the floor. "It's complicated…every case is different."

"I don't want the doctor spiel." The Adams siblings had never been anything but straight-talking. Why break the habit now? "If she were your patient, what would you say the odds were?"

Will let out a sharp breath. "Five percent."

"Mortality?" The word 'death' was on his tongue, but it was too blunt, too finite.

Will shook his head. "Survival."

Henry felt like he had been hit by a truck. Like the driver had stopped, climbed down from the cab and torn out his heart, and then reversed over it. He turned to the wall and bit down on his knuckle. Five percent. Five percent? If he lived this scenario a hundred times, in only five cases would his wife come out of the surgery alive.

"Henry." Conrad spoke as if to a child; a gentle, coaxing tone. "You should know that Stevie was there. I don't know how much she saw."

The kids. Their children. How could they not have even crossed his mind? "Where is she now? And Alison and Jason?"

"At the White House, in the bunker," Conrad said. "It was the safest place for them."

"They should be here," Henry said. But a sudden doubt crept over him. He looked to Will, questioning. "Right? They should be here?"

Will nodded. Then he sank back into a chair. He leant forward, his elbows rested against his knees, his hands pressed together as if praying—though neither Will nor Elizabeth ever prayed; they couldn't even keep their eyes shut when Henry said grace. He brought his fingertips to his lips but then must have caught sight of the blood, for he lowered them again.

"I'll have someone collect them." Conrad opened the door, and the sound from outside rushed in. He turned back, and his gaze fell to Will's shirt. "And I'll ask someone to find you something clean to wear."

Henry stayed where he was for a long moment, and then took the seat next to Will. The words ran laps through his mind before finally making it to his tongue. "Did she say anything, before…?"

Will nodded. He glanced sideways to Henry. "She asked for you." His lips tweaked into what could just about pass for a smile, given the circumstances. "Conrad told her that you were coming and she could tell you herself." He paused. "I know what she wanted to say, but maybe if I don't say it, she'll have to live just so she can tell you."

The logic was twisted, but it made perfect sense to Henry in that moment. Perhaps it was a kind of superstition, or maybe even a prayer in a way. Whatever it was, he would cling to it. She couldn't die, because she hadn't told him. Even on the phone earlier, she hadn't told him. _I like you okay too_. How different that last conversation would have been if they had known.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

 **Stevie**

The volume was on low, but the drone of the television still seeped into Stevie's head.

" _There's still no update on the condition of Secretary of State, Elizabeth McCord, and the White House has yet to make a statement. As you can see behind me, crowds have gathered outside the hospital where Secretary McCord was rushed to by ambulance earlier on today. People have been laying down flowers and leaving messages of support._ "

Stevie leant over the back of the sofa, her arm pushing between Jason and Alison where they huddled together. She grabbed hold of the remote control and switched the television off.

"Hey," Jason said, "we were watching that." He twisted round and wrestled for the remote, but Stevie snatched it to her chest.

"Well, you shouldn't be," she said. "They don't know any more than we do, and they keep showing those…those _images_." Even with the television screen dulled to black, the images played through her mind, her own private cinema every time she closed her eyes.

"Why shouldn't we watch?" Jason stood up and strode over to the television. He fumbled with the set until the screen flashed back to life. "Everyone else is."

"Because it's sick." She pushed past Jason and leant down to reach the socket, but Jason batted her away.

"Will you both stop it!" Alison shouted. She jumped up from the sofa, her arms hugged across her chest. "Mom might be dead and you're fighting over a stupid television."

A silence fell over the room. Stevie and Jason straightened up and backed away from the plug. Alison's eyes were rimmed red, whilst Jason wore that pout that spoke of the inner fight against his tears. Stevie opened her arms to them both, and within a second, they were in a tight circle, clinging to each other, foreheads pressed together. It's what their mother would have wanted, Team McCord together against the world.

The door opened with a clunk and a swish, and they broke apart. Stevie dabbed away the tears that had escaped her eyes and rolled halfway down her cheeks. She turned to the door. It was Blake. Her heart thudded. Did he know? Was he going to be the one to tell them?

"Your father and uncle are at the hospital," Blake said. "I have a car waiting to take you there."

"Do you—" Stevie began.

But he shook his head. "I haven't heard anything." He slung their coats over his arm and picked up their bags, as though he thought that somehow that might lighten their burden.

They walked through the corridors of the White House, the sunlight achingly bright after the gloom of the bunker. Everyone that they passed jumped aside, gazes lowered, until they thought that the children could no longer see, and then they shot them a pitying glance. Stevie's skin prickled each time. It was like being invisible and in the spotlight all at once.

When the car pulled up outside the hospital, Blake turned to the three of them. In the background, camera flashes had already started to go off. Each one was a jolt to the stomach. "This is going to be noisy, and they're going to take pictures," Blake said. "Just look straight ahead and don't stop until you're inside."

Stevie nodded. She took hold of Alison and Jason's hands and squeezed. They nodded too. They would run the gauntlet together.

Blake climbed out first. He kept his back to the cameras, shielding them from the glare of flashing lights. He offered Stevie his hand, and she stepped out too. Every single camera swivelled towards her, and she froze. It was like being on a red carpet; only, the carpet was dyed with blood. Alison's hand slipped into her own, and she jerked back into her body. Eyes ahead, don't stop. Blake walked alongside them, his arms held wide in a futile attempt to allow them some privacy.

"This way." Blake ushered them along the corridor, through the throngs of security, and then stopped outside a door. He peeked in through the window slit, gave a tap, and then opened it.

And there was their father and Uncle Will, both solemn faced, unspeaking and staring at the floor. Henry looked up. He jumped to his feet and wrapped the three of them in his arms. He clutched them so tight that the breath stalled in Stevie's chest, yet still the embrace felt empty; something—someone—was missing.

The sobs that she had so far suppressed wracked through her body. She buried her face in her father's shoulder, unable to stop the tears if she tried. It felt like a dam had broken and there was no choice but to let the world's waters flood out until they ran dry. Her father's hand cradled the back of her head, his fingers twisted through her hair. He pressed a kiss to her temple. "I'm sorry."

Stevie broke from the embrace to wipe her eyes. Will was hovering at the edge of the room. Stevie reached her hand out for him and beckoned him to come closer, so that she hug him too. He and their mother were _too similar_ —that's what their father had always said—and now the similarities were harrowingly clear. But that only made her cling tighter, as if being close to him somehow brought her closer to her mother too.

Blake cleared his throat. He had waited by the door, his gaze held low. "I was thinking maybe I could stop by the house for you and collect some toiletries and clean clothes. That way you can stay here."

Henry buried his face in the crook of his elbow for a moment. Then he looked up to the ceiling and let out a deep sigh that trembled through the air. "Thank you, Blake. We'd appreciate that."

"No problem," Blake said. "Anything I can do to help—anything—just let me know. I'll swing by your house and be back as soon as I can. The rest of the staff are waiting in the cafeteria. If you need anything in the meantime, or if there's any news…"

Henry nodded. "We'll let them know."

* * *

 **Blake**

"I didn't get her anything." The smell of coffee and frying oil wafted across the cafeteria, saturating the air and clinging to their clothes. Matt, Daisy, Jay and Kat were all hunched over the table, but they looked up at Blake's voice.

"What?" Jay peered up blearily.

Blake dragged out a chair and sat down. He rested his hands on top of the table and clutched them together. "When I went to the house to collect some things for the family, I didn't get her anything." How long had he stood in their bedroom, staring at her clothes in the closet, unable to decide? If he brought her clothes, that would jinx it, but if he didn't, that would seal her fate.

"She won't need anything right away," Daisy said. "You can always go back." Though, of course, that wasn't the point and everyone knew it.

"How are the family?" Matt asked. His voice was gruff.

Blake shook his head. "Devastated." And a nuclear explosion was _bad_.

"Any news yet?" Kat's fingers drummed out a rhythmless beat against the paper coffee cup.

Blake shook his head again.

"I just don't get it," Jay said, "I was talking to her and then…" He turned his gaze to the table and his eyes fogged over.

Blake chewed the inside of his lip. He didn't get it. None of it made sense.

* * *

 **Will**

Will stepped out into the corridor. He made it only a few paces away from the door before stopping and pressing his back to the wall. The chill of the plaster tingled through his skin. He took a deep breath. Even away from the oppressive air of the room, his lungs ached and the breath he drew felt empty.

"Dr Adams?" A man in green scrubs strode down the hallway towards him. "I'm Dr Davis." He held his hand out, and tentatively Will shook it. "I was present at the handover, but obviously there wasn't time for introductions." He paused a beat and then motioned to the door. "Would you like to step back into the family room for a moment?"

Will's heart stopped. Doctor Davis's expression was unreadable, as if his years of delivering news to families had eroded away all true emotion. Will swallowed. "Did she—?"

"Let's go inside." Doctor Davis placed one hand against Will's arm and guided him into the room. Henry rose to his feet the moment that they entered. He looked like he had aged a decade in a day. Doctor Davis extended his hand to him too. "Dr McCord, I'm Dr Davis, your wife's surgeon."

Henry's gaze jumped to Will, as if looking for a head start on whatever news was about to come. But Will had nothing to offer. If this was Elizabeth's surgeon, the operation had already gone one way or the other ( _Schrödinger_ flashed to mind); they just had to open the lid and see.

"It was touch-and-go at the start," Dr Davis said, "if it weren't for Dr Adams's actions we would be having a different conversation right now—but your wife responded well. We managed to stop the bleeding and repair the tissue, and she's now on her way to the ICU. We'll be keeping a close eye on her for the next week or so—"

"She's alive?" Henry cut in.

Doctor Davis smiled. "Very much so." The words stole the breath from Will's lungs and sent a rush to his head. She was alive. Lizzie was alive. She might just outlive him yet. "She's still unconscious and we'll keep her on the ventilator overnight, but if you'd like to see her, I can take you up to the ward."

"Thank you." Henry's voice shook. Tears started to roll down his cheeks again. Then he turned to Will. "Thank you." He hugged Will tight, his hands clutching the back of the borrowed shirt. "Thank you."

And Will clung on too. Lizzie was alive. Everything was going to be all right. She had survived.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

 **Henry**

A wall of glass separated Elizabeth's room from the corridor and the eyes of the nurses' station just beyond. Henry pressed his hand to the window. The glass fogged beneath his touch. Elizabeth lay on the bed inside, unmoving, cables and tubes and machines all around her. Henry's heart clenched. He glanced to Doctor Davis. "Can I go in?"

Doctor Davis nodded. "Just one visitor at a time for now."

Henry looked to Will. He was her brother. He had saved her. Surely he should be the one…But Will placed his hand on Henry's shoulder and squeezed. "Go sit with her. I'll come back later."

"Are you sure?" Henry asked, but his whole body was screaming at him to run to her, to hold her, to never let her go.

Will nodded. "I'll take the kids to get something to eat."

"Thank you." Henry swallowed. The words sounded so empty. But how could they ever express the gratitude that he felt? He clasped Will's hand as the fear and grief and relief and happiness all bubbled up again. "Thank you."

The doctor closed the door after Henry, leaving him in that eerie silence, broken only by the beeps of the machines and the click and whoosh of the ventilator. He edged across the room. He wanted to get to her, but at the same time, it felt as though if he got too close, the image might fracture.

Elizabeth's lips were parted and flecked with dried blood, making way for the tube of the ventilator that snaked down her throat. It was secured with a piece of plastic that wrapped across her face. A tube rich with crimson fluid extended from the right side of her chest and stretched down to the box beside the bed.

Henry reached out, his hand shaking, and he pushed the wisps of hair back from her face. He leant closer, filling his lungs with her scent and the sting of antiseptic, and he pressed his lips to her forehead. Her eyes were closed so lightly that it felt as though at any moment they might flutter open. But they didn't.

"Hey." It came out as more of a sigh than a word. "It's me." He pulled the chair close to the bed and sat down. His hand covered hers, careful to avoid the cannula that fed her vein. "You're going to be okay. Everything's going to be okay."

* * *

 **Will**

Stevie and Alison sat down at the table in the cafeteria, mute amongst Lizzie's staff, but Jason took his sandwich and trudged back towards the lifts. Will followed. "Wanna take a walk?"

Jason nodded. They walked the corridors of the hospital until they came to a row of benches facing a massive window that overlooked the street outside. A barrier had been set up at the perimeter, and it was already covered in flowers and balloons and messages scrawled on scraps of card. With a heavy sigh, Will settled down onto one of the benches. Daylight was fading, but through the glass, the last embers of sun still glowed against his skin.

Jason stared straight ahead, his mouth fixed in a pout. The silence that passed between them went on forever. But that was how the day had been. No words were enough to express what they were feeling, so they all sank into their own thoughts. And minutes felt like hours, and hours felt like seconds.

"I want to be a doctor," Jason said.

Will hesitated— _what?_ —then chuckled. "I know that feeling." Jason turned to him, his gaze heavy against Will's face. "And though I'm certain you have the aptitude, I'm not sure if it would suit your temperament." He shook his head to himself. "You have to fit into a hierarchy, comply with all these procedures and obey authority, even when it all seems so arbitrary."

"But I want to help people, people like Mom."

Will leant forward. He clutched his hands together in front of his knees. "I know." He let out a long breath. "After my mother died, being a doctor was all I could think about. It was something I felt compelled to do. I couldn't save her, but I sure as hell would save everyone else."

"You saved _my_ mom." Jason's throat bobbed.

Will nodded. He had. Lizzie had said something before: _No matter how many people you save, none of them will ever be Mom_. Lizzie was right, as always, but saving her was the next best thing to saving their mother.

"Mom never talks about them—your parents."

"That's because it hurts," Will said. And his heart twinged, just as it did every time that he thought about them. "I don't talk about them much either, except for with your mom."

"I overheard her talking about them with Dad once, but she didn't say much. She just changed the subject." Jason opened the sandwich packet and pulled at the crusts, but none of it made it to his mouth. "What were they like?"

Will paused. What _were_ they like? He had spent far more of his life without them than he had with them. Most of the memories he had of them were more like snapshots or video montage than real events; just pictures and flashes of feelings. "They were good people. They were kind to us, always encouraged us. They thought the world of Lizzie." He smiled to himself. "Sometimes I think she never felt good enough because she was a girl, and our father wanted sons. But every day they would tell me how they wished I would be more like her."

"What happened to you after they died?"

Will shrugged. "Boarding school. Summers with our aunt. It brought me and Lizzie closer in many ways, but it also made us so dependent on one another that we would get into these huge fights." A smile tugged at his lips. "That's why I was so glad when she met your father."

"Yeah?" Jason stared at him, as if his breath depended on each word.

Will nodded. "I knew that she had someone else there to look after her, to protect her. It felt like I could go back to being just her brother again."

"But you still fight," Jason said. "Whenever you come over, you fight."

Will waved a dismissive hand. "Those are just spats—which your mother starts, by the way." Jason smiled, a small but genuine smile. "She gave up her job for her family, and she could never understand why I wouldn't do the same for mine."

"But you did in the end." Jason finally raised the sandwich to his mouth and took a bite. He chewed, swallowed, then asked, "Do you think Mom will quit her job now?"

"I think that's a question for another day, after she's recovered and everything has settled." Will stood up and stretched. A huddle of medics flurried past, all with files tucked under their arms. Oh to be back in the field, away from paperwork and handovers and ward rounds. "Give it a few more days in this place, and you might find your desire to be a doctor subsides too."

* * *

 **D+1**

 **Will**

The following morning, Will stopped by the nurses' station outside Lizzie's room. The corridor was thick with men in black suits and women in blue scrubs. He leant back against the desk as he stared through the glass. Henry was sat by Lizzie's side, clutching her hand. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes, and every minute or so he would pinch his brow.

"How has she been?" Will asked one of the nurses, and he nodded towards Lizzie.

The nurse frowned. "Are you—?"

"Her brother," Will said.

A smile flourished on the nurse's lips. "I thought I recognised you. I saw—" but then she shut her mouth, the smile gone. Will resisted the urge to remind her that the media coverage was not a medical drama. Though perhaps she should be forgiven seeing as that's how the press were presenting it. "She's been fine. Her obs look good. The doctor should be round to see her shortly."

"Thanks." Will stepped towards the window. He tapped against the glass. Henry looked up, a look of surprise flitting across his face, and Will waved him over. Henry rose to his feet, then leant over Lizzie to place a kiss to her forehead. He lingered there a moment before retreating to the door.

"Is everything okay?" Henry asked. "The kids?"

"Asleep," Will said. "You look like you could use some rest." Henry glanced back to Lizzie, his face torn. But he looked a wreck, so Will insisted. "Just go get a few hours. I'll stay with her."

Henry nodded. He squeezed Will's arm and made to walk past, but then stopped. He reached into his pocket and retrieved a pair of glasses. He stared down at them for a long moment, and then passed them to Will. "Can you put them on her bedside table?"

"Sure," Will said, his brow furrowed.

"She…" Henry looked to floor with a watery smile. "She gives me her glasses when I travel, so that I have to come back to her. It's silly, but…" He gave a small shrug.

Will shook his head. He didn't need to explain himself. Love could make the most logical person do the silliest of things. "I'll call you if anything changes."

"Thanks, Will."

As promised, Will placed Henry's glasses on the bedside table, so that they could watch over Lizzie as she slept. He sat down in the chair, his gaze falling immediately to chest drain. It was still collecting fluid, but given the events of the last twenty-four hours, she was doing well.

Doctor Davis and his team appeared only half an hour later. They stood outside the window in a huddle, talking amongst themselves for a good five minutes before they entered. Will stood up. He nodded to Doctor Davis, then his gaze skimmed over the others.

"The overnight observations are promising," Doctor Davis said. "So, what I'd like to do now is to withdraw ventilation and sedation and see how she copes on her own. Is Dr McCord—"

"He's just gone back to the family room," Will said. And he fumbled in his pocket for his phone. "He needed some rest, and their children are still here."

Doctor Davis motioned to the phone. "I wouldn't worry about calling him. She won't come round for a few hours, and it's important that the family rests too." He tilted his head towards the door. "If you'd like to wait outside, we'll call you back through as soon as we're done."

Will nodded. He stepped outside the room, and though one of the nurses shut the blind, he didn't move away from the window. He tapped at the screen of his phone and dialled Henry's number, but it went straight to voicemail. He tried Stevie and Alison and Jason too, but all went to voicemail. There can't have been any signal in the family room.

When the blind opened, the endotracheal tube had been removed and the ventilator switched off. An oxygen mask had taken their place. The nurse unhooked one of the IV bags and carried it out of the room. She smiled at Will. "You can go back in now."

Will nodded. He dialled Henry's number one last time. Still voicemail. Then he stuffed his phone back into his pocket and took his seat next to the bed. Lizzie's face was peaceful, her chest rising gently and steadily. Perhaps it was easier when you were the one who was unconscious, when you didn't have to go through the ups and downs and hours upon hours of waiting. Perhaps it was easier to be the one who just shut their eyes and did—or did not—wake up.

* * *

 **Elizabeth**

Elizabeth blinked. She screwed her eyes shut again. They ached so much, and the glare of the lights above pounded through her head. Her chest was heavy and her body was swimming, her mouth dry and permeated with a metallic tang. Her hands groped across her ribcage, and she groaned. Whatever lay beneath the wad of dressing, it burned.

"Lizzie?" Will's voice. The side of the bed dipped and a hand stroked her hair. "Can you hear me?"

She opened her eyes and peered up at Will. His face shifted in and out of focus, but his smile was clear. She pulled off the mask that covered her nose and mouth. "You did it," she said, her voice hoarse, her throat on fire. "Mom would have been so proud." Her gaze shifted and found a pair of glasses staring back at her. Henry's glasses. "Where's Henry?"

"Sleeping," Will said. "I'll go get him."

But Elizabeth grabbed his hand before he could draw away again. "Stay. Let him sleep."

Will paused, then nodded. He dragged the chair closer to the edge of the bed and sat down. He kept hold of her hand, his thumb running over her knuckles.

"How long have I been out?"

"It happened yesterday." Will cleared his throat. "What do you remember?"

Elizabeth grappled with the images in her mind, trying to slot them together into the right order. But it was like piecing together a jigsaw without the picture for reference. "I remember you and Conrad. And Stevie—" Her heart lurched. Stevie had been there, she had seen—she shouldn't have seen. She shook her head, her mind blank once more. "The kids?"

"They're with Henry," Will said. "I think your staff are still here too, and Conrad. Plus half the country is waiting outside." His grip on her hand tightened. "The footage has been playing on loop since it happened."

Elizabeth groaned, but this time not from pain. "They filmed it?"

Will nodded. "Unfortunately."

"That's a bit macabre, even for media standards." She tried to shift her position in the bed, but her whole body lit up with pain. Will stood up and wrapped his arm behind her shoulders, helping to ease her up. "What happened, after the ambulance?"

Will hesitated. He perched on the edge of the bed. Elizabeth laid her hand against his arm and nodded—she needed to know. Will opened his mouth, but a long silence passed before he spoke. "You were bleeding out. There wasn't time, so I intubated you in the ambulance." His face twisted, as if trying to wring the memory from his mind. "You were taken straight to surgery. They had to open up your chest and operate on your lung." He hesitated. "It was close. Very close."

Elizabeth looked him in the eye, and in the reflection, she saw herself teetering on the brink. Her heart ached. How could she have done that to him? How, after everything he went through with their mother and father? She clutched his hand so hard that his skin blanched. Her mind screamed, _I'm sorry_ , but the words lodged behind the tears in her throat.

The door swished open, and her grip on Will's hand loosened, though their eyes remained locked. Through their silence came Henry's voice. "I got a text saying I missed your calls. Is everything all right?"

Will twisted towards the entrance, and letting go of Elizabeth's hand, he rose up from the edge of the bed. The briefest flash of a smile crossed his lips. "See for yourself." And he nodded towards Elizabeth. He retreated from the room, clapping Henry on the shoulder as he passed.

"Henry." Elizabeth offered him a weak smile, and before she could stop them, tears began to roll down her cheeks. His face was ridged with concern, and it looked as though years had passed, not a single day.

"Elizabeth?" Henry froze, but then she stretched out her hand to him, and he rushed to her side. The tears flowed from his eyes too. He sat on the edge of the bed, his hands cupping her face, fingers twisting through her hair, as if he needed to feel her to know that she was real, to cling to her to stop her from disappearing. He nuzzled his nose against hers, his breath hot on her lips. "I thought I'd lost you. I thought—"

But Elizabeth reached up and pulled him into a deep kiss. Her fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck, whilst his tears fell against her face and mingled with her own. She didn't want to think, didn't want to consider what might have been. All she wanted was him, here, now. She drew back, each breath wrenching at her lungs. She pressed her forehead to his and stared into his eyes, as if they held the meaning of life itself, the answer as to why she had survived. "I love you. I'm sorry. I love you."

"Don't be sorry." His voice was thick, his eyes glistening with tears. "I love you so much. I don't know what I'd do without you." He shook his head, and his gaze fell from hers. She stroked his cheek, and he nuzzled against her, pressing a kiss to her palm. "You are my world, Elizabeth. Just the thought of losing you…and I can't breathe."

"You're not going to lose me." She placed her hand over his heart, and the beat quickened beneath her touch. "I'm right here. Always. Right here."

Henry's hand enfolded her own, the other stroking her hair. It reminded her of when she was a child, and her mother would soothe away the nightmares. She would sing a lullaby— _Hush, little baby, don't say a word; Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird; And if that mockingbird don't sing; Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring_ —and slowly, seamlessly, Elizabeth would fall asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

 **D+2**

 **Elizabeth**

"So, we've taken out your chest drain." Dr Davis held the radiograph up to the light. "And your X-ray looks good."

It was the afternoon after Elizabeth had woken up. She was still in bed in the fish tank room that was the ICU. Henry was stood by her side. He clutched her hand and looked down at her, offering her a warm smile. She reflected the smile back at him and brought his knuckles to her lips. Things were going to be all right.

"We'll continue with the antibiotics and painkillers as necessary," Dr Davis continued, "and hopefully we should get you home within the week."

Elizabeth's heart lifted, but Henry's brow creased into a frown. "That soon?" he said. "She was shot two days ago…"

But the word 'shot' was as blunt as the bullet itself. Elizabeth's chest tightened, and faces—Conrad, Will, Stevie—whirled like waltzers through her mind. She closed her eyes until the spinning stopped, and reeled off prime numbers to make the images subside. _Two, three, five, seven._

Doctor Davis nodded. "So long as everything's looking okay, I don't see why not. The sooner you get back on your feet, the sooner you'll recover. There's nothing worse than sitting around in bed all day."

Henry's grip on her hand tightened. "But she needs her rest too."

Doctor Davis nodded again. "It's all about balance."

Henry opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Elizabeth cut in. "You mentioned that I might be able to move to another room." She turned to the wall of glass, with the nurses' station and Diplomatic Security just a glance away. "One that's a little less see-through."

Doctor Davis chuckled. "We're just sorting that out now. Apparently your security detail need to sweep it for bugs first. And here I was worrying about MRSA." Elizabeth smiled politely at the joke, though she didn't care what bugs the room contained, so long as she was out of the ICU and on her way back to some semblance of normality. "You'll need to come back to have your stitches removed, but a nurse will arrange an appointment with you when you're discharged. If there's anything you need, just ask for me."

"Thank you, doctor," Elizabeth said.

"You're quite welcome, Madam Secretary." Doctor Davis slipped the radiograph back into the file and retreated from the room.

Henry turned to her the moment that the door shut. "You heard him, didn't you? Balance. No pushing yourself too far, too fast."

"And _you_ heard him. The sooner I'm up and moving, the sooner I'll recover." She eased her legs over the edge of the bed. The air was cool against her toes where they peeked from the compression socks, and it felt as though they were half asleep.

"Just don't injure yourself, okay?" Henry wrapped his arm beneath her shoulders. "You don't want to pull any stitches."

She slipped down from the bed. Henry held up most of her weight, yet still her whole body shook with effort, every last muscle trembling as if it had never been used before. She made it all of three steps before collapsing into the chair next to the bed. Her heart pounded and her lungs screamed for breath. How could she go from running 10Ks to barely being able to walk?

"This is going to take time," Henry said. He crouched in front of her and placed her slippers on her feet. "Just take it easy on yourself, for once."

"Fine." Elizabeth averted her gaze. It was easy for him to say; he wasn't the one who couldn't even reach his own toes.

"Hey." Henry squeezed her knees. When she didn't look at him, he lifted one hand to catch her chin and tilt her face towards him. She gave in and looked into his eyes. They were filled with so much love, so much concern. "I love you. You hear me? Everything's going to be okay."

Elizabeth nodded. Everything would be okay, once all this fuss was over, once life got back to normal. She tugged on the front of his shirt and pulled him up to meet her lips. "I love you more."

Henry shook his head. "Not possible."

The door swished open. Elizabeth let go of Henry's shirt, and he drew back. A nurse was waiting in the doorway, clipboard in hand. Two men stood behind her, flanked by Diplomatic Security. "Madam Secretary," the nurse said with a breezy smile, "your room's ready for you. If you'd like to climb back on the bed, we'll wheel you down."

The corridors were teeming with security, both her own Diplomatic Security agents and others from the White House Secret Service. The porters wheeled her bed into the new room whilst two of the agents made their last sweep. When the door was finally closed and they were left on their own, Elizabeth turned to Henry. "Is all of this really necessary. I mean, I get the two guys on the door, but they've got security posted at every entrance."

"Everyone just wants to make sure that you're safe." Henry rubbed her arm through the sleeve of the hospital gown. Her skin prickled beneath his touch.

She shook her head, resisting an eye roll. "It's a hospital, Henry, not a war zone."

"And you were in the White House, surrounded by security, when it happened." Henry's throat clunked as he swallowed. His gaze fell away from hers for a second before returning. "So what if people want to be a bit more cautious? I'm not going to complain."

"Of course you're not going to complain. You're not the one being guarded." She swung her legs over the edge of the bed again, and when Henry tried to wrap his arm around her, she shrugged him off. "I can manage." Her arms quaked as she pushed her weight through them. Henry hovered next to her, hands ready to catch. She gritted her teeth. "I can manage." And she did—shuffling the few paces it took to reach the chair.

"Babe, I know this is difficult, but—"

There was a knock on the door. Elizabeth cleared her throat. "Come in."

Conrad stepped inside, bearing a bouquet of flowers. Russell followed, his gaze buried in his phone. He closed the door behind them.

"Hello, Bess." Conrad offered her a warm smile. He held out the flowers. "I thought I'd stop by and bring you these."

"Thank you, sir," Elizabeth said. A genuine smile came to her lips, lightening the mood from a moment before. Henry stepped forward to take the flowers. He placed them on the table at the edge of the room. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you too." Conrad pulled up the second chair and sat across from her. "A definite improvement from the last time." He shook his head to himself, his eyes turning distant for a moment. "I've seen my share of things during my service, but that vision was one that I could have done with out."

Henry leant against the edge of the bed, his arms folded across his chest. "It was an experience we could all have done without." There was an edge to his voice.

Elizabeth shot him a look. "Henry. Not now."

But Henry continued as if he hadn't heard her. "Is it true that there was a security alert? That you knew there was a threat against you?" His jaw tightened, and he stared hard at Conrad. Conrad stared back, lips pursed.

Russell glanced up. He pocketed his phone and shrugged. "It wasn't deemed credible."

Henry's hands bunched into fists, the sheet crumpling beneath them. "So my wife got shot because someone didn't deem a threat to life _credible_?"

Russell paused, as if considering whether to say whatever it was that he was thinking. Then he shook his head and said it anyway. "The bullet wasn't even meant for her."

Henry's leg was trembling against the edge of the bed. "So it's okay then?" He threw his arms up. "It's okay that someone was this close to killing my wife, because—hey—the bullet was never meant for her. It's okay that our children had to watch their mother almost die because the crazed gunman that you allowed within shooting distance of her had rubbish aim?" His voice cracked. "If she had…" He bit down on his knuckle, burying the rest of the sentence in his fist.

Elizabeth reached across the mattress for his hand. "Henry." He pinched his eyes, and her heart ached for him, ached for his pain. "Henry, I'm here, okay? I'm here."

Henry nodded, and his hand found hers. He clung tight, as if worried that if he let go, she would be gone.

Conrad leant forward in his seat. He brought his hands together in front of his chin. "I'm sorry, Henry. I'm sorry for everything that your family has been through. And though I know it is of no consolation, there will be a full investigation and people will be held accountable."

Henry made no reply. Which, given the tension that bound his body, was probably for the best. The room descended into silence.

"On a brighter note," Russell began, and Elizabeth's heart sank. Whatever he said, it would only rile her husband even more. "Your approval rating is through the roof. So every cloud…" He trailed off as Henry glared at him in a way that suggested he was considering how he would break every bone in Russell's body one by one.

Elizabeth gave Henry's hand a quick squeeze. _Breathe, Henry, breathe_. She flashed Russell a taut smile. "Thanks, Russell. Good to know." Maybe they should add that to their political tactics handbook. _Want a boost in your ratings? Take a bullet to the chest._

"Maybe it's time," Conrad said, "that we put out a statement to let the people know that Deputy Secretary Cushing will be taking charge whilst you focus on your recovery."

Elizabeth shook her head. "Not necessary, sir. I plan to be straight back to work."

Henry turned to her, eyes wide. "What? Your doctor just told you that you need rest."

"No," Elizabeth said, "You told me that I need rest. He said that I need balance."

Conrad folded his arms across his chest and sat back in his chair. "Are you sure, Bess? Because you can take all the time that you need. It's really not a problem."

"Unless you're still planning to run," Russell said. "In which case, you don't want to take too much time. You don't want people to forget about you, or worse—think you're weak."

Elizabeth turned back to Conrad. "I'm sure, sir. I just want to move on and for things to go back to normal." The thought of endless days sat at home doing nothing but mull over what happened made her mind itch. "I think that work will help."

"Babe." Henry tugged at her fingers. "We need to take time to think about this, to think about the future, our plans."

Elizabeth glanced up at him. His face was marked with concern. "Nothing's changed." Her plans, her future; they were still the same. No bullet would knock her off that trajectory.

Henry shook his head. "You can't just pretend like this hasn't happened."

Elizabeth pursed her lips. "Why not?"

"Elizabeth." Henry said her name in that tone, the one that suggested she was being unreasonable. It was the same way he had spoken to her when she had broached the idea of taking up the position as Station Chief in Baghdad.

But this was different. This wasn't her asking for a different life, this was her trying to return to her old one. Her position as Secretary of State, her run for the presidency; these were things that they had already agreed. "Henry." She snapped back. And they fell into a chasm of silence.

Conrad's gaze darted between the two of them. "There's no rush. We'll let the two of you discuss it, and we'll put out a statement either way when you're ready." He stood up from the chair, and then leant down to place a kiss to the top of Elizabeth's head. "Take care, Bess. I'll stop by once you're back home."

Elizabeth laid her hand against his elbow. "Thank you, sir." She nodded to Russell. "Russell."

Henry paced towards the closed door, his hand massaging the back of his neck. He stood with his back to her for a long time before finally turning to face her. "You can't seriously be thinking about going back to work." His eyes were dark, his jaw tensed, as if just the thought paralysed him with fear.

"What did you expect?" Elizabeth held his gaze. "That I would just sit around at home?"

"Yes." Henry threw his arms up.

Elizabeth pushed herself up from the chair. Her body ached and begged her to sit back down, but she needed to be on a level with him. "Then what?" She leant her weight into the bed, her hands clutching the mattress.

Henry shook his head. "I don't know, but I thought you'd at least take time to process."

"Like all the time you took _processing_ when you got shot?" Her arms had started to shake, but she wouldn't sit down; she couldn't let him think that he was right, that she was too weak to stand on her own, that she needed him to prop her up.

His jaw clenched. "That was different."

"Because your job is more important than mine?" Her eyes narrowed on him, daring him to rise to the challenge. Because that's what it came down to—every time something happened to her, she was meant to bail, but whenever something happened to him, it was fine for him to push through. She was a woman, he was a man, and that was the proper order of things.

Henry's eyes flashed. And he shouted, "Because I didn't almost die."

Elizabeth flinched. Her limbs couldn't take her weight any more, and she stumbled back to the chair before they collapsed. She clung to the armrests, her heart racing.

"Five percent, Elizabeth." Henry's voice had lowered, but his tone remained harsh; full of anger and pain. "Those were your odds. Just five percent that I would see you again."

"What do you want me to say, Henry?" She looked up at him and shrugged. "Do you want me tell you that I'll quit?" Because that was what he was saying, beneath all the words.

Henry leant back against the door, his arms folded over his chest. "Truthfully?" He paused, but for barely more than a second. "Yes. I want you to be safe. Is that really so selfish?"

" _Truthfully_?" Elizabeth echoed. If being safe meant her quitting the job that she loved, giving up her chance to make a difference in the world, and becoming a recluse just so that he didn't fear that she might get hurt, then—"Yes."

Henry rubbed at his lips, as though trying to force back whatever words had leapt to his tongue. He opened his mouth to speak, but then held up his hand, a stop signal. Whether it was meant for her or for himself, she couldn't tell. "I love you, Elizabeth. And I'm not going to argue with you about this, not now." He turned away and opened the door.

"Then when?" She called out. Her heart thudded into the silence.

He didn't turn back to face her. "I'm going home to see the kids. I'll come back later." Then he left, and shut the door behind him.

 _Later_. Elizabeth scowled. And then they'd dance around the conversation again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

 **D+2**

 **Elizabeth**

Elizabeth's eyes shot open at the knock on the door. She blinked at the room around her, her head whirring. Her hands clenched and relaxed against the armrests. She must have dozed off in the chair.

Will was stood in the doorway. He flashed her an easy smile. "I'd thought I'd stop by and see how you're doing." He tossed her a bag of popcorn, and her heart melted.

She tore the bag open and stuffed three clusters into her mouth. It was sweet and salty, and if she never ate anything again, she'd be a happy woman. "Did I ever tell you how much I love you?"

"Not as much as you love popcorn." He pulled up the other chair, and reached into the bag to steal a handful. He popped the clusters into his mouth one at a time. "I ran into Henry at the house. He seemed a bit…edgy."

Elizabeth shook her head whilst she swallowed her mouthful and used her tongue to remove the bits from her teeth. "We had an argument." What else was there to say? Her gaze darted to the door. "Hey. Do you wanna get out of here?"

"And go where exactly?"

She paused. Anywhere with fresh air would do, anywhere she could breathe. "The roof." Will opened his mouth, but hesitated. "Come on, Will. Don't tell me you're scared."

"Of the roof? No." He glanced over his shoulder. "Of the goons you've got guarding you? Just a bit. They manhandled me before."

"Only because you turned up at the house unannounced looking like you'd just come from a homeless shelter." She reached across and touched his hand. "Come on. It'll be fun."

"Fine. I'll grab you a wheelchair." He stood up. "But if there are any problems—"

"I'll take full responsibility." She eased up from the chair and grabbed her dressing gown from the bed. She pulled it around her and then shuffled to the door. With every step, walking became a little easier. It didn't rid her of the ache in her lungs though.

"Your carriage." Will steadied the wheelchair whilst she sat down.

The security agent eyed them like he would a suspicious package. He seemed to be debating whether or not to challenge her. "Ma'am? Where are you going?"

"To the roof." She smiled up at him. It really was as simple as that.

The security guard shook his head, striding backwards to stay in front of the wheelchair as Will pushed her along the corridor and towards the lifts. "Ma'am, you need to stay in your room. I'm not authorised—"

"We're going whether you're authorised or not," Elizabeth said. She was Secretary of State, at least for the time being, and if she wanted to go up to the roof, she would go up to the roof. "Now, you're free to join us." She motioned towards the elevator.

The security guard glanced back towards the room, but then as Will pushed her through into the lift and the doors started to close, he hurried after them. "Ma'am, I really don't think—"

Elizabeth extended her hand to him. "We've not met before. What's your name?" The elevator jerked and began its ascent.

"Greg, ma'am." He shook her hand tentatively, as if worried that it was some kind of trick.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Greg. I understand your concerns, and as I told my brother, if anyone has issue with me getting some fresh air, I will happily take the blame."

Greg opened his mouth again, but Will cut in, "I wouldn't bother arguing with her. Trust me, she will win."

When they reached the highest level, Will wheeled her out and into the corridor. About halfway along, they came to a stairwell and an arrow pointing up to the roof. Will kicked on the brake and offered her his arm. "Do you think you can make it up?"

Elizabeth looped her arm through his and gripped on tight as she rose to her feet. "I'm sure as hell going to try." With one hand clinging to Will, the other to the banister, Elizabeth shuffled up the stairs, unable to make more than five steps without stopping for air.

"Ma'am," Greg called from behind them, "maybe we should go back."

"Can't do that, Greg," Elizabeth said in between puffs for breath. Her lungs burned, but only a few steps more and she'd be at the top, feeling the embrace of the fresh air.

"Almost there." Will reached for the door handle, and pushing his shoulder into the door, he wrestled it open. The cold air hit Elizabeth like being struck by a wave. She closed her eyes and stood there for a moment, letting it rush over her. "See—" Will squeezed her arm "—you made it." And he sounded as though he had never doubted her.

They sat down on the makeshift bench of breeze blocks that someone had so thoughtfully constructed. The sky was dark, but the lights from the buildings around them drowned out the stars. Only the sliver of the moon hung overhead.

"What is it with you and roofs anyway?" Will leant back, his fingers forming a net behind his head. "I remember when you used to sit on the porch roof back before Mom and Dad…you gave them such a fright the first time they found you there."

Elizabeth chuckled. Their mother had screamed as if Elizabeth were hanging from the tiles, her hands slowly slipping down. When in reality, she had been sat with her legs either side of the ridge, her back leant against the front of the house, a book balanced in her hands.

"Then you'd always be sneaking onto the roof at school. With—"

"With Joey." Elizabeth nodded. Her heart ached. He had been shot because of her. And now she knew what that felt like, what he must have been thinking in those last flashes of life. Had he thought of her? Did he blame her for what happened? "God, I miss him." She shook her head to herself. Those words weren't nearly enough. "It's the freedom. When there's nothing but the sky above you and the world stretching out below, it feels like anything is possible."

"He had such a soft spot for you."

Elizabeth smiled to herself. "I know."

"Did you ever—?" Will raised his eyebrows at her.

She blushed. "No. We were just friends—"

Will laughed. "Who wanted to get friendlier."

She turned to him. God, she wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. "Nothing happened."

"Fair enough." Will held up his hands in mock defeat. "So, what _is_ happening with you and Henry? Why are you trying to push him away?"

"I'm not—" Elizabeth began, but Will gave her that warning look. She might be able to bullshit someone else, but not her own brother. She let out a long sigh. "He wants me to quit my job." She let the words linger in the air for a moment. "It's like he just wants to wrap me in cotton wool, and it feels like I'm suffocating."

"Well, that's exactly what you did to me after the crash," Will said.

"No, I didn't." Elizabeth folded her arms over her chest, but had to loosen her grip as she pressed too hard around her stitches and sent out a jolt of searing pain.

"Yes, you did." Will leant forward, his elbows coming to rest on his knees as he twisted to face her. "Ever since that day you've tried to stop me from doing anything that might possibly result in me getting hurt." He pointed one finger at her. "How many years have you spent nagging me to quit my job so that I'd be safe here, rather than risking my life in a war zone?"

"That's different." Elizabeth turned away from him, instead staring out across the darkened sky. There was a touch a smoke in the air, an undercurrent beneath the exhaust fumes. "I'm your big sister; it's my duty to protect you."

"And Henry's your husband; maybe it's his duty to protect _you_."

Elizabeth shook her head. She pulled her dressing gown tighter around herself. "I don't need protecting. Not if it means staying inside and never doing anything of any importance."

"You're the one who's always told me that being there for my family is important. What's so wrong about being there for yours?"

"I can be there for mine and still work." Throughout the job, she had been there for them, put them first. And she had always said that if the job came between them in anyway, she would quit. Though perhaps that threshold had shifted a bit since those early days. But then again, so had her role within the administration.

"Maybe, at some point. But right now, you're not the only one who needs to heal—Henry and the kids have their own healing to do as well. And you being there for them is part of it."

"It's not like—"

"Elizabeth?" Henry's voice came from the top of the stairwell, and both Will and Elizabeth spun around. Elizabeth's heart sank a little, which in turn made it sink even more; that wasn't how she was supposed to feel when she saw Henry. Henry stared at them. He looked like he might shout or cry, or maybe even both. "I came back to see you and found your room empty. Then one of your agents said you'd gone on an excursion to the roof." One hand rose up to the side of his head, fingers pressing into his temple as if he had been struck by a migraine. "What were you thinking?"

"I wanted some air," Elizabeth said.

Henry shot Will a look. "And you let her?"

"I came with her," Will said. And Elizabeth thanked whatever forces were out there that Will was not the type to rise to a fight, unless of course it was with her.

"It's freezing." Henry shrugged his jacket off and tried to wrap it around Elizabeth's shoulders, but she pushed him away.

"Henry, I'm fine." And when he tried again, she jolted back from his touch. "Just leave it." And before she could think, let alone shut her mouth, she added, "God, will you stop fussing over me?" A pang of regret hit, but she wouldn't take the words back, even if she could.

Henry swallowed. His eyes were moist, his jaw tense. He looked down to the ground for a second before meeting her gaze again. "Will you please just come back inside?" And he held his hand out to her.

Elizabeth pursed her lips. She could have spent hours out there, looking out across the world below, searching for meaning in the sky above. But Henry's look pleaded with her, and his pain coursed through her as if it were her own. She shook her head to herself. "Fine." She eased onto her feet, Will at her side.

"Thank you," Henry said, and he offered her his arm, but she held onto Will instead.

They returned to the elevator in silence. Elizabeth's brow was fixed in a frown and she could feel Henry's gaze flitting over her every few seconds. When they reached her floor, Will squeezed her shoulder, and she placed her hand over his. Then the door opened, and the touch was gone. Will wheeled her back to her room and parked the wheelchair just inside the door.

Henry cleared his throat and turned to Will. "Can we have a moment? Alone."

Will glanced to Elizabeth, a silent question— _Is that okay?_ —and she nodded. He leant down and pressed a kiss to her temple. "I'll come back tomorrow."

Elizabeth held him close for a second, bunching the back of his shirt in her fists. "And bring more popcorn."

Will chuckled. "Night, Lizzie. Love you." Then he left and closed the door behind him.

Elizabeth picked pieces of fluff off her dressing gown. Henry stayed silent. Both of them were waiting for the other to give in. When all the fluff had gone and she had to resort to picking air, Henry crouched down in front of her and rested his hands against her knees—light enough that she could have pushed him off. But she didn't; she just continued to stare down at her lap.

"Will you at least look at me?" Henry dipped lower and caught her gaze.

Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek. "You could have died after the dirty bomb. But that didn't stop you. You went straight back and signed up for another job the next day."

Henry nodded. "I did."

Elizabeth held his gaze. "And I supported you." Even when he went to Pakistan. How easily could he have been the one to get shot, not Jose?

"You did." His eyes softened.

"Then why is this any different? Why won't you support me now?"

His lips tweaked into the faintest trace of a smile, but it was tinged with sadness. "Because your life is worth more to me than my own."

Elizabeth stayed silent. How could he think that? How could he not see that it was him who held their lives, their family, their world together?

With his hands still resting atop her knees, he brushed his thumbs over her thighs. Her skin shivered in response. "I don't want us to keep having this argument. I want us to draw a line under it, under everything that's happened, and for us both to call it quits before either of us gets hurt again." The shiver turned to a prickle. "We could move back to the horse farm and have a quiet life together; have the retirement we always planned."

But retirement was meant to come after she had finished her work, and she wasn't done yet. "My parents had a quiet life on a horse farm. That didn't stop them from getting killed." The words alone were enough to send a pang through her heart. She rarely talked about their deaths, and even then it was normally with Will. That was a piece of history that was their own, that she couldn't fully share with Henry. Not because he couldn't understand, but because he _would_ understand—and for anyone to make sense of that loss was unfathomable.

"I know." Henry's gaze never strayed from hers, and she could feel him lean into that pain, if only to take a little of its burden. He placed a kiss to each knee, so tender that it made her chest ache. "I'm sorry about earlier. I'm not angry with you; I'm angry with the situation. It feels like when the plane took off, I was in one world, and when it landed, I was in another…And this world terrifies me." And that terror was in his eyes, a darkness lurking beneath the surface.

"We always knew that there was a risk I could get hurt." Her hands slid down her lap until her fingertips bumped against his, and the touch that would have left her numb only minutes before, lit her with a spark.

"But seeing that…it made it real." He lowered his forehead to her knees. She threaded her fingers through his hair, her nails grazing over his scalp, and then pressed a kiss to the top of his head. _I'm still here_. He looked up, his eyes shining. "I'm not asking you to make a decision either way right now. Take a week or two, at home, to think about it. Can you do that for me?"

Elizabeth nodded. She cupped his face with one hand, her thumb brushing over his stubble. Then she leant forward to capture his lips in a sweet kiss. She filled her lungs with the scent that was at once both Henry and home. She pulled back just enough to mumble against him. "Stay with me?"

And he nodded. "Always." He helped her back to the bed, and as she lay there, he joined her and nestled against her side. One hand stroked her hair, the other rested against her hip, and as he trailed kisses over her shoulder and the nape of her neck, she drifted into sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

 **D+3**

 **Elizabeth**

"I've got a surprise for you." Henry stood in the doorway. The twitch in his cheeks said that he was trying to hide the smile from his face, but it was still evident in his eyes. Elizabeth's eyebrows arched. When would he learn that he would never sneak anything past her?

"Whatever it is, it had better be caffeinated." It was just past midday and she still hadn't had a coffee, as the slight throb in her temples so eagerly reminded her.

Henry stepped aside and Stevie, Alison and Jason flooded into the room. They surrounded her where she sat in the bedside chair and swamped her in their arms. Her whole body lit up, yet ached at the same time, and her eyes scorched with tears. How could she miss them when they were right there? How could she feel so empty when they were in her arms? When they drew back, she dabbed at her eyes.

"Mom, are you crying?" Stevie rubbed Elizabeth's shoulder, whilst Alison passed her the box of tissues. Jason's mouth formed a tight pout, and she could tell that he was torn between the urge to rush to protect her and the fear that she might push him away—it was an easy read, given how many times she had seen the same expression in his father.

"I'm fine." Elizabeth crumpled the tissue in her hand. She took a deep breath, and then let it tremble out through her lips. "I just missed you guys so much." And the tears began again. She laughed at herself. She had perfected her control over her emotions—or at least their outward display—yet one minute with her family, and that restraint crumbled.

"How are you feeling?" Alison perched on the arm of the chair. Her brow was creased into a worried frown as she stared down at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth rested her hand against her daughter's thigh. "I'm fine. So much better for seeing you guys. How've you all been?"

"It's crazy out there," Stevie said. She lifted herself up onto the edge of the bed and sat there, her ankles crossed, legs swaying back and forth beneath her. "The media are everywhere. When I went into work this morning, Russell had to send out security to escort me inside."

"They're outside the house too," Alison said. Her frown deepened. "And people keep coming to lay flowers and leave cards."

"There's a whole wall of tributes at the entrance to the hospital," Jason said. He gave a stilted shrug, as if it didn't bother him, though his expression said otherwise. "It feels like…like a memorial."

Elizabeth glanced up at Henry, his face solemn. He hadn't mentioned that. She looked back to their children. "Well, hopefully it'll quieten down in a few days." She offered them a smile. "I'll be home soon, and everyone will forget that this ever happened."

But they didn't smile back; instead, their faces remained just as grave as their father's. Of course, no one in that room would ever forget what had happened. If only they could.

"Hey," Henry said, his tone a touch too cheery. "Maybe we could take a family vacation. We could spend a few weeks back at the horse farm—"

"I've got work," Stevie said. And as if to emphasise the point, her phone bleeped. She looked at it and groaned. "I need to make a quick call. Russell is texting in all caps." She jumped down from the bed and headed for the door.

"What about you two?" Henry squeezed Alison and Jason's shoulders.

"I've got classes," Alison said, "and exams. I haven't been to college all week, and I'm already so behind."

"I've got assignments and…uh—" Jason looked down to his feet "—I'm thinking about college applications." He looked up and met Elizabeth's gaze with an almost shy smile and the hint of a blush.

"Really?" Elizabeth beamed. Jason's smile immediately faded, and he rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry. Look, I'm totally uninterested in whether you apply for colleges or not. See?" She fought hard to keep a neutral face.

Henry's grip on Jason's shoulder tightened, and he leant forward to speak in their son's ear. "I'm totally uninterested too." And as he smiled, he caught Elizabeth's eye, and a warmth bubbled up inside her. Their little anarchist was all grown up.

Stevie stepped back into the room, still staring down at her phone as she tapped away at the screen. "So, have we vetoed the horse farm idea?"

"Yep," Alison said. She twisted back to face Elizabeth. "Can't we just put out a statement asking people to respect our privacy?"

Jason snorted. "Because that always works."

Alison shot him a glare. But Henry stepped in before she could make her retort. "Will you cut it out? You're here to see your mother, not to come up with media management strategies."

"Actually," Stevie said, "I've got to go. Especially if I'm giving you two a lift." She looked to Alison and Jason, who nodded in reply.

"But you just got here," Henry said.

"Babe, they have lives." Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at Henry. What did he expect? "Come here. I want hugs before you go." She pulled Alison close first, then Jason. Stevie hesitated by the door. Elizabeth looked to her daughter expectantly, and she saw the flash of Stevie's face looking down on her as she lay dying on the stage. She blinked it away. But the numbness remained.

Stevie looked to her father. "You start walking them down. I'll catch up in a minute."

Once the others were gone, Stevie reached into her bag and pulled out a second phone, not her own, but Elizabeth's. She stared down at it hard before crossing the distance between them and pressing it into Elizabeth's hand. "Russell asked me to give you this."

Elizabeth glanced towards the door. She lowered her voice a fraction. "Does your father know?" He couldn't know; there'd be no way that he'd allow it.

Stevie shook her head. "Russell told me not to, and he made it _very_ clear that if I did tell Dad, he'd fire me." She bit her lip. "Should I have told him?"

"No." Elizabeth drew her daughter close, breathing in her scent as she hugged her. If she concentrated hard enough, she could almost remember that newborn smell that had mesmerised her so many years ago. "I'll see you soon, okay?" She let Stevie pull back just enough so that she could press a kiss to her forehead. "I love you."

"I love you too, Mom." Stevie retreated to the door, but then stopped and looked back. Her eyes were shining. "I'm really glad that you're okay."

"Me too." Elizabeth kissed her palm and blew the kiss towards Stevie. Stevie caught it and smiled. The moment that the door shut, Elizabeth's heart sank. It plunged deeper and deeper until everything inside felt empty. She had felt lonely before, but never as much as this. This was different, this was…She shook her head. She didn't know what it was, but it felt like something inside of her had changed. Like something had happened when she was shot, tearing a hole not only through her flesh, but through her understanding of the world and her place in it.

She toyed with the phone in her hand, spinning it round and round. Then with another quick glance towards the door, she switched it on. She went straight onto the browser and typed in her own name. The video footage from the shooting appeared right at the top. She hesitated, then clicked on it. She leant back in her chair, her frown growing deeper and deeper as she watched. An odd sensation overcame her. The only word she could think of to describe it was 'violation'. And the word crawled through her skin and nestled in some darkened recess of her mind.

When the video ended, she scrolled down through the articles, only to get hit by a news alert. She clicked onto it. Images of the children arriving at the hospital flashed onto the screen. _"We are still yet to receive an official statement from the White House regarding the condition of Secretary of State Elizabeth McCord. However, less than an hour ago, her children were seen arriving at the hospital where she is being treated for the gunshot wound she sustained three days ago. There has been mass speculation about Secretary McCord's condition, and even more speculation regarding who President Dalton will chose to replace her."_

Replace her? Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek. She wasn't dead yet. She shutdown the screen and hid the phone beneath her pillow. Russell was right in thinking that Henry wouldn't approve. He'd rather that she did quit, that they'd run back to the horse farm just as they had before. Only this time they wouldn't have the children to raise. It would just be the two of them, pottering around in silence, never doing anything with their lives, just waiting out the days. The thought prickled through her mind.

She snatched up the phone again, tapped in a text to Blake and hit send. Instantly, the itch faded.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

 **D+4**

 **Elizabeth**

Elizabeth shed her hospital gown and stepped into the shower. The water poured over her. It soaked her hair, fell like tears across her face, and trickled down over the angry incision that curved just beneath her right breast. She kept her face turned up to the water. If she didn't look, maybe the cut would disappear, maybe everything could go back to how it was before.

By the time she turned the shower off, the room had filled up with steam. She picked up the towel and patted herself dry. But despite her care, the stitches snagged. Each tweak came with the flash of an image: security circling her; the look in Conrad's eye; the fear behind Will's mask; Stevie's utter horror.

There was a tapping at the door. "Babe? Everything okay?"

Elizabeth swallowed. She pressed her thumb and forefinger to her eyes. "I'm fine." She pulled on her underwear, a pair of loose sweats, and one of Henry's old tees. Hardly the most flattering of outfits, but at least it didn't press down on the wounds. At least, for a while, it allowed her to forget.

Elizabeth opened the door and the cool air rushed in. Henry was hovering just outside. "Can you pass my make-up bag?"

"Sure." He went to the bed and rummaged through the kitbag he had brought with him. He presented her with the make-up bag, and then with one hand, he found her hip and pulled her close. "Though, you're beautiful just as you are."

Elizabeth snorted. "Nice try." But she gave him a peck on the cheek for the effort before retreating into the washroom. She balanced the bag on the edge of the sink as she applied her make-up. "I just want to feel a bit more human." She glanced at him. He was studying her, that concerned look creeping back across his features. "What?"

"You can talk to me, you know?" He leant against the doorframe, his arms folded across his chest.

She looked away again as tension gripped her shoulders. "I am talking to you."

"You know what I mean."

She caught his eye in the mirror. "Henry, I'm fine." What was there to talk about? She got shot, she was getting better, end of discussion. He raised his eyebrows at her. "Seriously, Henry, I'm fine." She shook her head to herself and then smoothed out her foundation. It was just a touch of make-up, but it would do.

"Elizabeth."

Elizabeth busied herself with returning the brushes and powder to the bag.

"Elizabeth," Henry repeated, firmer this time. She turned to him. Her hands clutched the edge of the sink behind her as she leant back against it. He stepped closer, placing his feet either side of hers, and then he tilted her chin up so that she met his gaze. "Please don't shut me out."

"Henry." She let out a deep breath. "I really am fine." Why couldn't he just leave it alone? He was as bad as that counsellor she had been forced to see after her parents had died.

He let go of her chin and folded his arms across his chest again. But he stayed close, so that he towered over her. "You know, the more you say ' _I'm fine_ ', the less _fine_ you sound."

She shrugged. "Then what do you want me to say?"

"The truth." His gaze hardened.

She arched an eyebrow at him. "The truth?" Seriously? She stood up straight, folding her arms across her chest to mirror his stance. "The truth is that you worry about me too much." Her tone was perhaps a touch too sharp. "If I say I'm fine, it's because I'm fine."

Henry held up his hands in mock defeat. "Message received." He stepped away, towards the door, but then hesitated. "But whenever you're not fine, I'm here, okay?"

Elizabeth pursed her lips. Why wouldn't he just believe her? Though she had finished applying her make-up and had no need to hang around in the washroom any more, she lingered there a while, just so that she wouldn't have to follow him straight out into the room. She would be glad when she was discharged and she could finally get a little space.

"Babe," Henry called through. Elizabeth's stomach sank a little. What now? She followed him into the main room, and he pointed towards the door. "Your staff are here."

Blake waved to her from the doorway. Jay, Kat, Matt and Daisy were all crammed in behind. Her chest lifted and she smiled. "Come in, come in." She beckoned them into the room, and within moments they had surrounded her, just like her children had, and she was filled with that buzz of home. When she had hugged them all, she took a seat in one of the chairs. Henry stood behind her, one hand resting protectively on her shoulder. Jay took the other chair, whilst Kat leant against the wall and Blake, Matt and Daisy perched on the edge of the bed.

"We got you this," Blake said, and he passed her a small gift bag. "It's nothing big."

Matt pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "We weren't really sure on the gift etiquette when someone gets shot."

"Matt." Daisy gave him a jab with her elbow.

"What?" Matt glanced around, arms open, as if genuinely unsure what he had done wrong.

Elizabeth reached into the bag and pulled out the wad of pink tissue paper to uncover a pair of baby blue bed socks underneath. She pulled them out, the cashmere soft against her skin, and then smiled up at her staff. "They're perfect. Thank you." She leant down to put them on.

Within a second, Henry was knelt in front of her. "Here, let me help."

She brushed his hands away. "I can manage." And she did. When she sat up again, she caught his gaze. "But what you could do is fetch me a coffee."

He paused, then nodded. "Sure. I'll be back in a minute." He looked to her staff. "But no talking about work whilst I'm gone. She needs to rest." He leant down and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She let him, and she let the comment slide. It was easier that way.

As soon as the door shut, Elizabeth turned to her staff. "What happened with the China deal? Did they accept the change?"

The staff looked to one other, their faces wary. Jay leant forward in his chair, his hands clutched in front of him. "Ma'am…your husband—"

"Has gone to get coffee." Elizabeth stared hard at Jay. "So, did they sign?"

Jay glanced to Kat, his lips pursed ever so slightly. Kat folded her arms across her chest. She shook her head. "They backed out."

"What?" Elizabeth's pitch shot up. "But everything was in place. It was _agreed_. What happened?"

Kat shrugged. "Something about political instability."

Elizabeth frowned. "Right." She looked to the floor a beat, then turned to Blake. "Get me Minister Chen." There were more worried looks and opening and closing of mouths, as if everyone had an objection that no one was willing to express. "Blake."

Blake nodded. "I'll set up the call now." He retrieved the laptop from his bag and placed it on the bedside table whilst he tapped away at the keys. When the dial tone kicked in, he passed the laptop to Elizabeth and she set it on the bed where Blake had been sitting.

A moment later, Minister Chen appeared on screen. "Madam Secretary, you're alive."

Elizabeth gave a grim smile. "Yet I hear that you're trying to kill our deal." She leant closer to the screen, ready to catch Chen's response. "What's this about political insecurity?"

Minister Chen sank back in his chair. So he was on the defensive. Elizabeth tutted to herself. "China has had a fruitful relationship with the United States during your term as Secretary, but my government feels that it would be prudent to hold off on this deal until we can establish whether your successor will be just as amenable."

Elizabeth snorted. "My successor?" She shook her head. "I'm not going anywhere. And I'm feeling less and less amenable by the minute."

Minister Chen tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair. "Forgive me, but your government is yet to put out a statement about your status. What with the media coverage, we had presumed—"

"As you said, I'm alive—"

"Ma'am," Blake whispered and pointed towards the door.

Elizabeth swivelled round. Henry was stood in the doorway, coffee cup in hand. _Damn it_. She turned back to the screen. "I'd like those documents signed by the end of day." She held her finger over the button to end the call. "It was good speaking to you, Ming."

Minister Chen gave her a slight smile. "I'm glad that you're still with us, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth hit the button and the screen went blank. The room was silent. It felt as though all of her staff shrank back at once, as if to fade into the background. Henry just looked on from the doorway. "I leave the room for ten minutes—" Henry began.

Elizabeth held up one hand. "Henry, not now."

Jay rose slightly from his seat and tilted his head towards the door. "Maybe we should—"

"No." Elizabeth motioned for him to sit back down. "Stay." She stood up instead. "I'll be back in a minute." She pushed past Henry and strode several paces down the corridor. She turned back to face him. He looked angry, but more than that, he looked hurt.

"You said that you would take time to think about things."

Elizabeth threw her hands up. "Something came up. I had to take care of it." A group of nurses walking past stared at them, and Elizabeth lowered her voice.

Henry stepped closer, affording them a little privacy. "You personally?" His jaw clenched. "You couldn't get someone else to do it?"

"No. I have to do it, because these are agreements and policies that _I've_ made." A surge of anger rose up inside of her. He just didn't get it. "I can't just _take a vacation_ and think that everything's going to be waiting for me when I get back." She laid one hand against his forearm. He had to see reason. "This is my job, Henry; this is years' worth of work."

"I'm not concerned about your job," Henry said, and he shook his head. "I'm concerned about your health. You need to rest."

"I need to work." She took the coffee cup from him, and her arm bumped against his as she returned to the room. Her staff fell back into silence as she entered. She looked to the bed. "Daisy, I'd like you to liaise with the White House. It's about time that they put out a statement saying that I'm not dead and that I'll be returning to work."

Daisy hesitated. Her eyes widened slightly, as if to question Elizabeth. But instead she just nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I'll contact Russell Jackson right away." She eased down onto the floor and retrieved her phone from her handbag.

Elizabeth looked to the rest of her staff. "I'll be staying here for the next few days, and then I'll be back in the office as normal. In the meantime, I'd like to you to keep me updated on all developments, particularly on anything on-going that has been affected by this week."

Jay twisted round in his chair. "Ma'am, what about the events you were due to attend?"

Elizabeth paused. If she canceled, that would only add fuel to the rumours that she was quitting or unable to cope. But if she went, people would just talk about the incident. "Rearrange what you can. We'll just have to work around anything else."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

 **D+6**

 **Henry**

"I went to see her again this morning." Henry popped the cap off his beer as he walked towards the couch in the den. He sat down next to Will and lifted the bottle to his lips. It was cold and bitter, and all he could think about was Elizabeth in their first apartment, her eyes shining as she hid a smirk in a swig. At the time, he had thought there was nothing sexier than her wrapped in one of his shirts and drinking straight from the bottle.

"How is she?" Will rested his own bottle between his knees.

"Still working. She's got a whole office set up there." When he had arrived at her room the day before, he had found the table moved to the centre, with Blake working on two laptops at the same time; Elizabeth reading a binder whilst having antibiotics infused into her arm; Jay and Kat at a flip-chart in the corner strategising how to bring the media narrative back to the State Department's policies; Daisy fielding media requests for interviews, all of which Elizabeth was declining because she refused to even acknowledge what happened to her, let alone discuss it with the media; and Matt drafting comments to thank the public and dignitaries for their overwhelming response. It hadn't been any better when he had stopped by that morning either.

Henry shook his head to himself. "It's crazy. She's just been shot, she very nearly died, yet she's already throwing herself into work."

Will chewed the inside of his cheek. "She was the same after our parents died." His gaze turned distant, as if he could see far beyond the walls of the living room and back to another time. "She was already a bookworm, but after the crash, it became obsessive. It was like she was trying to make sense of what happened by consuming as much information as she could." He shrugged. "We all have our coping mechanisms."

"What can I do?" Henry leant forward in his seat and twisted round to face Will. "How can I make her see how ridiculous she's being?"

Will chuckled, a bitter kind of laugh. "You can't. You just let her get on with it."

"What? I'm meant to sit back and watch whilst she exhausts herself?"

Will nodded. "It's your job to wait until she's ready to talk, ready to process what happened. At some point, sooner or later, she'll need you, and you need to be there for her when that moment comes."

Henry's jaw tightened. "I can't just do nothing." A desperate anger burned in his chest. "I can't just wait until she gets hurt again." Because that's what would happen. She would work herself into exhaustion, until she was barely able to function. Look what happened the last time she had tried to push through, after returning from Iran.

Will took a long sip of his beer. "You don't really have a choice."

"There's always a choice." That's what Elizabeth always said. Even in impossible situations, she found a choice, found a solution. That's what he needed now: a way to get through to her.

"Well then, it's a choice between waiting until she's ready to open up," Will said, "or trying to force your way in now and risking that she shuts down completely."

But the worst thing would be for her to block him out, even more than she had already done. "So what do I do?"

"Support her the best you can. Respect her decisions, even though they're totally crazy. Don't judge her. And when she's ready, she'll come to you."

But when would that be? They said a person had reach rock-bottom before they would be willing to accept help, but some people didn't reach rock-bottom before their souls gave out.

* * *

 **D+7**

 **Henry**

Henry hurried round to the opposite side of the car and opened Elizabeth's door for her. He held out his arm to help her down, and for once she didn't push him away. Instead, she looped her arm through his and let him take her weight as she slid down onto the pavement. He had no doubt that she was much lighter than before, her body taxed by such an ordeal. And it showed in the slight hollows of her cheeks and the way that her jeans and shirt hung from her.

Elizabeth stared up at their house. Her eyes shone like a child's on Christmas morning. She nestled against Henry's shoulder for a second, and his body flooded with warmth. It almost felt normal again, like everything between them was okay.

"Happy?" he asked as he led her up to their front porch. He and the kids had removed the flowers from the street and had brought the cards and signs inside. Only a few stray strands of ribbon and scraps of burst balloons remained.

She nodded against him. "I'm so glad to be out of there. It feels like I've been away for months." She squeezed his arm and turned her head to look up at him. A smile tugged at her lips. "There are people inside, aren't there?"

Henry chuckled. "It was meant to be a surprise." Once a spy, always a spy. "Is that okay? I can send them away again if you want."

"No." Her grip loosened, and her arm slipped free from his. "I can be social for a while." She strode ahead of him towards the door. After all the warmth she had brought him, he ached at the absence of her touch. But as much as he wanted to, he couldn't cling to her, for the more he did, the more she would pull away.

The door opened before Elizabeth had even reached it, and their children beamed at her from the entrance. They ushered her inside and swept her up into a group hug. Henry couldn't help but remember the day she had returned from Iran, exhausted and scarred, but safe in their children's arms. She kissed each of their foreheads. "I missed you guys."

"Not as much as we missed you," Stevie said. "It's been so quiet."

"I bet." Elizabeth chuckled. "No motorcade for a whole week. The neighbours must have loved it." She shot Henry a glance over her shoulder, and that spark of hers was there, dancing in her eyes. It warmed Henry's heart, but then she turned away again and it was gone. She let the children lead her past their office and through to the sitting room. Henry followed.

Sophie and Annie were knelt down at the coffee table whilst Annie scribbled chunky crayons over a page. Will was sat on the couch, deep in conversation with Conrad; Russell hovered by the fireplace, nose buried in his phone. Carol and Lydia had taken the armchairs and were turned towards one another, chatting away. Everyone stopped talking and turned towards Elizabeth as she entered.

Will stood up first and enveloped Elizabeth in a hug. He whispered something in her ear, and she laughed, a raw laugh that at once filled Henry's chest with lightness and sent a stab of jealousy. It was good to see them so close and not bickering, yet at the same time, he was meant to be the one that she turned to and confided in. But they couldn't all be Mister Laid-Back; someone had to be there to protect her when she wouldn't look out for herself.

"Bess." Conrad stepped forward. He held Elizabeth's upper arms and studied her for a moment. "I'm glad to see you looking so much better." He pulled her close in a fatherly embrace, and then stepped back, welcoming Lydia and Carol into the circle.

Jason was leant against the banister of the stairs. Henry placed his hand on his son's shoulder. Jason turned his head and looked up. "You doing okay?" Henry said.

Jason nodded. "It just feels strange."

Henry squeezed his shoulder. "I know. It'll take a while for things to settle again."

Jason cleared his throat. He looked to the floor before glancing back up to meet Henry's eye. "There was an item on the news earlier."

"Maybe give the news a break for a while," Henry said. The coverage was inaccurate at best, but at worst it was outright morbid. None of them needed that in their lives.

"People are saying that Mom's going to run for president…you know, the ones who aren't saying that she's dead and someone else has assumed her identity." Jason's gaze turned to follow Elizabeth as she moved through the room. Their small gathering surrounded her, watched her, hung on her every word. There was no denying that she had the presence, that aura. And she certainly had the votes, if the latest opinion polls were anything to go by. "I thought maybe she would quit."

"I had hoped so," Henry said.

"Can't you talk to her?" Jason's features hardened, his lips forming a stubborn pout.

"I have." And look how well that conversation went. Henry shook his head. "Your mother will do whatever she needs to process this."

"What if something else happens?" Jason folded his arms across his chest, burying his fists beneath his elbows. "What if someone hurts her again?"

Henry paused. What could he say? How was he meant to reassure his children when the same fears played on loop through his own mind? "She'll have her security with her."

"That didn't help last week." Jason's jaw clenched.

"I know," Henry said. Her security had protected her for years, largely without incident, but all it took was one shot for it all to be over. How could he tell their children that it was going to be okay when it so nearly wasn't?

"And if she does run," Jason said, "it'll only get worse."

Henry's chest tightened. He had read the vitriol about his wife's policies online. How many of them would line up for a chance to paint their disapproval with her blood? "Well, we'll deal with that if we come to it. Right now, let's just focus on today. She's home, she's doing well—"

Jason gave a sardonic smile. "She's pretending nothing happened."

Russell had cornered Elizabeth and was talking to her over the top of his phone. Her brow was fixed in a frown. One hand rose up to massage her temple, then her face lit up and she slipped away into their study. She returned a few moments later with a slip of paper in hand. She swatted it against Russell's chest with a victorious smile, and Russell snatched it up.

Henry swallowed. "Maybe that's what she needs right now." Though every part of him was screaming to tell her to stop, to rest, to quit—for God's sake, just take a moment to breathe. But he couldn't. He just had to trust that when she was ready, she would come to him.

* * *

Henry stood in the doorway of their bedroom. Elizabeth was sat at the dresser, wiping the make-up from her face. She paused and glanced at Henry in the mirror. Henry stepped into the room, closing the door behind him, and took a seat on the edge of the bed behind her.

"Was this afternoon okay?" Henry asked. They hadn't had a chance to catch up since the guests had left, and Elizabeth was looking drained. Perhaps having people over so soon after her discharge was a mistake, but they had wanted to see her, and he wanted her to know that she was loved. At least he had managed to keep her staff away.

"It was fun." Elizabeth gave a small smile. She returned to removing her make-up, and her gaze dipped away from his. "It felt good to be around people again, away from that hospital room."

Henry kneaded the back of his neck, pressing his fingers into the knots. "I had a spouse to spouse talk with Lydia."

"Oh yeah?" Elizabeth's face lit up. She slipped her rings from her finger and deposited them into the dish with a _clink_. Then she swivelled round in her seat to face him. "What did she say?"

Henry took a deep breath and then sighed it out. "I think she feels guilty. The bullet was meant for Conrad, not for you." But the moment he said 'bullet', her expression dropped.

Elizabeth shook her head as she looked down at the floor, and wisps of hair fell into her face. Henry's fingers itched to reach out and tuck them behind her ear, but instead he folded his hands in his lap. When Elizabeth looked up, it was like she had constructed a force field between them, and it pushed him back. "I'm going for a shower, then to bed. I need to be up early in the morning."

She stood up from the stool and gathered together some clothes, then retreated to the bathroom. The door shut and the lock clicked into place. Henry frowned. They never used the lock. Before that moment, he couldn't have even said with any degree of certainty that the bathroom door actually had a lock. But it did. And for some reason, she had used it.

When Elizabeth returned, she climbed straight into her side of the bed, switched off the bedside lamp and curled up on her left hand side, facing away from Henry as he leant back against the headboard. Though she didn't ask him to, he set his book down and switched off his lamp too. He hadn't really been reading it, just staring at the pages and listening out in case she needed him, all the while wondering what he could do to fix this, fix her, fix them.

"Elizabeth?" Henry looked down at the huddle next to him. His hand eased across the duvet, but stopped before he could touch her.

"Hmm?" Her voice was muffled by the pillow.

"I love you." The words echoed through the room.

She paused. And in that second, all he could hear was the _thud, thud, thud_ of his heart. She lifted her head slightly, and said, "You too." Then she settled down again and pulled the covers tighter around herself.

But that wasn't the response he was looking for, and both of them knew it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

 **D+8**

 **Henry**

Henry blinked in the hazy morning light. He reached across the bed and his hand groped through the sheets. But Elizabeth's side of the bed was cold. He pushed himself up onto his elbow and rubbed his eyes. The bedside clock read 7:15 AM.

He padded down the stairs, yawning as he went. Voices drifted up from the kitchen. Elizabeth was sat on the stool at the end of the island, coffee cup in hand. Stevie thrust a bowl across the counter towards her, and Alison passed her a spoon, whilst Jason leant back against the sink, his arms folded across his chest. Elizabeth dragged the spoon over the mix of yoghurt and berries and oats, and her nose wrinkled.

Stevie raised her eyebrows at her mother. "Eat."

"I'm eating, I'm eating." Elizabeth shovelled the breakfast into her mouth, washing each bite down with another swig of coffee.

"And I think you should lay off the caffeine." Stevie pulled the mug out of Elizabeth's reach. "You're as bad as Russell."

"Dangerous move," Henry said as he stepped off the bottom of the stairs. The girls smiled up at him, whilst Jason sent him a casual nod. Elizabeth swivelled round. She caught his eye. There was the faintest glimmer there, and the corners of his lips tweaked into a smile, but within a blink it was gone. Henry took the mug from Stevie and placed it back on the counter in front of Elizabeth. "Never come between your mother and her coffee." He wanted to wrap his arm around her waist, to pull her close, to press a kiss to the exposed skin of her neck, just above the collar of her shirt. But he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder instead, and fought to silence the jolt of pain when she froze beneath his touch. He let his hand fall back to his side. "What time did you get up?"

"Six." Elizabeth swallowed a mouthful. "I've got to get going in exactly—" she glanced at her watch, the replica of her father's "—four minutes." She spooned the last dollop of yoghurt into her mouth and then pushed the bowl away. "There. Done." She hopped down from the stool. All three children watched her, their faces torn, but no one said anything.

"I'll walk you to the door." Henry placed his hand behind the small of her back, leaving a small pocket of air between them. They walked through the house to the entrance hall. Elizabeth grabbed her coat from the cupboard, and Henry took it from her, holding it up so that she could slip her arms inside and shrug it on. Elizabeth turned back to face him, her brow pinched into a light frown—a look of indecision. "If you need anything," Henry said, "just call."

She nodded, but didn't move towards the door.

He could grab her hand, tell her to stay. But there wasn't a surer way to make her leave, so he just smiled at her gently. "I'll see you this evening."

She nodded again, and this time, she left.

When Henry returned to the kitchen, the kids were carrying their own bowls of breakfast to the table. Henry grabbed a cup of coffee and joined them.

Alison looked up at him as he pulled out his chair. "Isn't it crazy that she's going back to work already?" Her eyes were wide, almost fearful. And in an instant she was a little girl again, appearing at the door of their room in the middle of the night, because every time her mother went away, she would suffer with nightmares.

Henry sat down. He sighed, and his whole body deflated. There was no point sugar-coating it. "Yes, it's completely crazy. But what happened is crazy, and if this is what she wants…all we can do is be here for her."

Stevie stared down into her bowl. She pushed the cereal around with her spoon. "I can't stop thinking what would have happened if Uncle Will hadn't been there."

Henry reached across the table and covered her hand with his own. "I know." His voice stuck in his throat. "Nor can I." That scenario had played non-stop in his mind since he stepped off the plane and saw those television screens. He let go of Stevie's hand and pressed his finger and thumb to his eyes, as if he could pinch back the tears that pricked in their corners.

"Dad?" Alison's voice was timid.

He held up one hand. He just needed a moment. He took a deep breath and let it out in a sharp burst. He looked up at his children. "I'm fine," he said, but then shook his head. No, that's what Elizabeth kept saying and it wasn't true. He tapped his fingers against the table, his gaze fixed on the back of his hand. "I love your mother very much. And what happened to her…it makes me sad and angry. And seeing her how she is now…" The distance between them expanding, and crushing him like nothing else. "…it hurts."

* * *

 **D+9**

 **Elizabeth**

The bedside clock ticked over. Each minute clunked by like a full hour. Elizabeth eased up to sitting and let her feet dangle over the edge of the bed. The cool air danced between her toes. She glanced over her shoulder. Henry was fast asleep, his brow creased with a slight frown, and he held a pillow in his arms. Her heart twinged. That was where she was meant to be. But if she did that…if she let him close…She shook her head before the spiral could start and whisk her away into its abyss. Best just to push those thoughts from her mind.

She picked up her phone from the bedside table and tiptoed to the door. She eased it open. Henry snored, and she stopped. He hugged the pillow tighter to his chest and then settled again. Elizabeth slipped through the gap and pulled the door to.

The house was silent, only the faint whir of engines filtered through the walls and windows from the motorcade outside. Elizabeth made her way into the study, sat down behind the desk, and pulled the binder towards her. She wetted her thumb and flicked through the pages to where she had left off. Two hundred and seventy six pages down, only three hundred and eighty four to go.

It was page three hundred and eleven when the stairs creaked. Her gaze shot up, and adrenaline pulsed through her veins until her body no longer felt her own. _Two, three, five, seven, eleven, thirteen_. She had found solace in numbers, understandable patterns, after her parents had been killed, and even though no one had died, they still brought her comfort now.

Henry appeared in the doorway, a blanket tucked under his arm. He stood there for a moment, in silence. If his eyes weren't open and staring down at her with their disbelief and fear, she might have thought he was sleepwalking. He held the blanket out to her. "It's cold. You should have this."

"I'm fine," Elizabeth said, and she looked back to the binder. "Just leave it on the chair."

He hesitated, then put the blanket down and hovered next to the desk. His gaze crawled over her, and she closed her eyes, willing him to go away, before he starting saying things, probing, unleashing demons that she wouldn't be able to cage again.

"Elizabeth?" His voice cracked.

And it felt like she might crack too. Like a sheet of ice breaking, and the dark waters beneath flowing out. She swallowed, urging those thoughts back down. "Go to bed, Henry."

His throat clunked, and for the longest time, he didn't move. Then—just as she thought he would say something else, to tear down the bars of the cage word by word—he turned and left. As soon as his footsteps had disappeared up the stairs, she grabbed the blanket and swathed herself in it like a cocoon. It would block the world out, it would keep the demons in, until they underwent their metamorphosis and became something beautiful.

* * *

 **D+10**

 **Henry**

The alarm went off after what could have been days, not hours. Henry was staring up at the ceiling, his mind filled with the fog of sleeplessness that weaved through thoughts of Elizabeth, who—presumably—was still working in their office.

Three different styles of music drifted from the children's bedrooms and amalgamated in a jarring symphony on the landing. Henry's head throbbed, and he massaged his forehead as he stumbled down the stairs.

He stopped on the bottom step. Elizabeth was curled up on the burgundy sofa, the blanket wrapped around her. The binder that she had been studying was open on the floor, her glasses resting on top. She looked so calm and cosy and content. In a way, she looked normal. His Elizabeth again. His heart thudded. He should just leave her to rest, let her get a few hours of much needed sleep, but if did and she was late to work, she would only get mad at him.

He pushed the binder aside with his foot, and then sat cross-legged in front of her. Her brow pinched slightly, and it emphasised the bruised circles beneath her eyes and the hollowness of her cheeks. Her frown deepened until her expression was pained. Her lips mumbled over the words: "Tell Henry…"

His heart beat faster. Was she dreaming about what happened, about the moments after the footage cut out? He moved onto his knees, and with the gentlest of touches, he stroked her hair back from her face. She nestled further down against the cushions, a groggy moan escaping her lips. Then her eyes flickered open. He pulled his hand away, like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar, but her own hand groped out from beneath the blanket and her fingers latched around his wrist. His pulse thrummed beneath her fingertips. She slid her fingers down until they were palm to palm, then she slipped her fingers through his. Her gaze locked on their intertwined hands, and she frowned. She looked like she was still dreaming—like when you dream about your everyday world, but something doesn't feel right, though you can't say quite what, but you just know that things aren't how they're meant to be, and you wait for the moment when you'll wake up.

"Elizabeth?" His voice was soft, but hoarse from lack of sleep.

Her gaze darted to his, and something in her eyes hardened, a layer of ice forming fractals over the ocean. She let go of his hand and propped herself up against the cushions. She twisted round, as though searching for her bearings. "What time is it?"

"Just gone seven," he said, and he sank back onto his heels.

She swung her legs over the edge of the couch and stood up. But perhaps too quickly, for she faltered and stumbled forwards against him. Henry caught hold of her legs, whilst her hands landed on his shoulders. It echoed the nights when a slightly tipsy Elizabeth had teetered into his arms; only this morning, it wasn't followed by a chortle. She drew back sharply, as if stung by his touch, and that in turn sent barbs through him. He let his arms drop to his sides, and she stepped over him, one hand rising to massage her forehead as she marched up the stairs.

"Elizabeth," he called after her. When were they going to talk? When were they going to deal with this thing that had happened to them; this thing that was tearing her apart, tearing them apart, tearing their life apart?

She paused for a second. Then, without facing him, she said, "I'm late." And she continued her ascent.

Henry sat down on the couch, his head in his hands. Why couldn't she see what she was doing?

When she returned—showered, dressed, make-up on—her heels tapped straight past him and towards the front door. Henry jumped to his feet and followed her. He leant against the wall, arms folded across her chest, as she wrestled her coat on. She shot him a look. "You're hovering."

 _You're hurting, you're fading, you're drowning_. There were so many ways to rise to the bait. But instead, he said, "You're getting your stitches out today. Do you want me to meet you at your office, or at the hospital?"

Elizabeth turned towards the mirror and flattened out her collar. "You don't need to go." Then she patted the bags beneath her eyes with her fingertips, as if she could dab them into submission.

"I want to go," Henry said. He straightened up and stepped away from the wall, so that he was just a pace behind her. "I love you, Elizabeth, and I want to be there for you."

She caught his eye in the reflection. "Henry—" her voice had softened, almost into a plea. She closed her eyes and shook her head to herself. "Fine." She let out a huff of breath. "I'll see you there." She turned to face him, and for a moment his heart stopped—how many times had they stood here before and kissed each other goodbye? A promise that lingered, a silent oath that whatever happened they would see each other at the end of the day. And as her gaze fell to his lips, he felt sure she was thinking the same. For a second he thought maybe she would kiss him and take a step closer to letting him in. But instead her lips tugged into a sorry smile, and she left; the door closed behind her.

* * *

 **Elizabeth**

Elizabeth's heels clacked down the hospital corridor, their rhythm matched by her pulse as it pounded through her ears. The air was stifling and suffused with that sterile smell, and it brought the metallic aftertaste of anaesthetic back to her mouth.

Her security stepped into the elevator first, and held the doors whilst she and Blake joined them. As the elevator lurched upwards, a cool sweat spread across her body. She tugged at her blouse, creating pockets of air to fan her skin.

"You okay, ma'am?"

Elizabeth jumped at Blake's voice, and her heart beat so hard and fast that it felt like some had taken a pneumatic drill to her ribcage. She shook her head to herself— _seventeen, nineteen, twenty-three, twenty-nine_ —and took a deep breath. "I'm fine," she said through a smile that made her cheeks ache. "Just fine."

But Blake's brow was pinched, a perpetual kind of worry that, in the right light, reminded her of Alison. Perhaps the others too. There had been nothing but frowns since the incident.

The doors dinged and Elizabeth followed the agents out into the waiting room. Henry stood up from one of the sea-green vinyl seats. He nodded to the two security agents and then smiled at Blake. But when it came to her, he looked lost. His hands twitched at his sides, as though—without them resting against her waist—he didn't know what to do with them, and his shoulders were tense, as though unable to relax without her touch. He smiled at her, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Busy day?"

She shrugged off her coat and passed it to him. "Always." Then with a long sigh, she sank down into the chair next to his.

As they sat side by side, Henry's fingers drummed against the armrest. She watched them: _tap-tap, tap-tap, tap._ Before, they would have rested in her hand, or atop her knee, or against her thigh. They would have brought her warmth, as comforting as a log fire, or lit her body until she burned like the flames themselves. And if she reached out now, she could hold them, could welcome them, could let them guide her home…But that would only lead her to her destruction.

"Madam Secretary?" Elizabeth jolted out of her thoughts. Her pulse quickened, and her breath drew tight in her chest. A nurse was stood in front of her, wearing jade green scrubs and a smile that was a touch too wide. Her hand swept towards one of the side rooms. "If you'd like to come this way."

Elizabeth nodded and stood up. Her heart eased back into a smoother rhythm. Henry's hand retreated from the armrest and he rose slightly from his seat, but he stopped as she shot him a glance. "Stay here."

"How have the stitches been?" the nurse asked as Elizabeth removed her blouse and climbed up onto the bed. "Any problems at all?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "They're fine." Though in truth she hadn't looked at the stitches at all. Who in their right mind would want to look at them, to look at that tainted flesh? Every scar holds a story, but there were some stories that she would rather forget.

There was a television screen in the corner of the room, small like the one in the kitchen back on the horse farm. The sound was muted, but behind the news anchor flashed the image of her own face. It was an old picture, taken around the time Conrad was to announce her as his vice president—until plans changed.

The nurse followed her gaze, and her smile faded away. "Do you want me to turn that off?"

"No," Elizabeth said, "Can you turn the sound up?"

"Sure." The nurse darted across the room, and the volume blared for a second before returning to a more tolerable level. The nurse snapped on her gloves. "Right, I just need to examine the wounds, then if everything looks good, I can clip the threads and pull the stitches out. It shouldn't hurt, but it might tug a bit. Is that okay?"

"Fine." Elizabeth nodded, though she couldn't be sure what the nurse had said; the voices from the television drowned out the nurse and numbed Elizabeth to the room around her.

" _After being shot just over a week ago, we understand that Secretary of State Elizabeth McCord has already returned to work. An official statement was released by the White House four days after the shooting that saw Secretary McCord take a bullet to the chest. However, the Secretary is still yet to make any public appearances and has declined all interviews with the media, leading to widespread rumours of instability and that she is planning to resign from her role._ "

The anchor turned to the panel. Though she was a woman, all three panelists were white, middle-aged, men. Elizabeth snorted to herself. Great diversity.

" _What are your thoughts? Do we think that the Secretary will quit?_ "

" _She was in critical condition_ ," the man on the left began, " _on life support no less, the fact that she survived at all defies all sense. I think this retreat from the spotlight might be a sign of things to come, a withdrawal from politics in general._ "

" _Then why not just quit outright?_ " said the man in the middle. " _Why go to the trouble of returning to work?_ "

" _If she has in fact returned to work_ ," the man on the left said. And he gave the others a sly look. He was probably one of the nutjobs who thought she had died and someone else had assumed her identity.

" _Well, we've seen pictures of her being escorted into the State Department Building_ ," the man in the middle said. " _Or do you think that's all just a charade?_ "

" _I think that President Dalton wants to project an image of stability_." The man on the left held his hands out, as if laying a blueprint across the desk. " _Let's put it this way—we've all seen the footage of the shooting. Do you really think she can be fit enough to return to work after that? If I was her, I'd be counting my blessings and be outta there_."

" _Maybe she's made of sterner stuff than you, Bob_ ," the man on the right said to the man on the left. " _After all, people say that she's the balls of the administration._ "

" _Or maybe she's just got the administration gripped by the balls._ " The man on the left shook his head. " _Nah, I'd wager good money that she'll quit within the month._ "

" _I don't know_ ," the man on the right said. " _Her approval ratings are through the roof. I've even heard whispers that she might be planning to run for president._ "

"All done," the nurse said in a cheery voice. Elizabeth pulled her blouse back on and fastened the buttons hastily, before she could see what lay beneath. The nurse opened her mouth, but paused a moment before speaking. "For what it's worth, Madam Secretary, I really admire you, especially after what you've been through."

Elizabeth gave her a taut smile. "Thank you." Though why couldn't people just admire her work, rather than admire her for a thing that had happened? She stepped out into the waiting room. Henry and Blake were chatting to one another, both wearing those concerned frowns. If she had to guess, she would say that they were discussing her and what she had been through. That was all that anyone else wanted to talk about.

"Blake," Elizabeth said, a bark to her tone. Blake jumped from his seat, and Henry's gaze darted up. Elizabeth pointed to the television screen on the wall. "Have you seen this? I thought we were pushing back and bringing the focus back to our policies."

"We are trying to, ma'am. But—"

"Well, try harder." Elizabeth grabbed her coat from the chair next to Henry. He was still staring up at her, but she didn't return his gaze. "Surely we can give them something better to talk about. We've disrupted the news cycle enough times before."

"Ma'am…" Blake trailed off, but his mouth hung open. Elizabeth's gaze hardened on him, daring him to say whatever it was he had thought it best not to say. "This isn't just another news cycle, ma'am. It won't just go away."

"Find a way," Elizabeth said. And she turned and strode back towards the elevators.

"Ma'am." Blake hurried after her. "Maybe if you considered—"

Elizabeth stopped sharply and spun around, so sudden that Blake almost collided with her. "I'm not giving interviews. I'm not indulging their morbid desire to wallow in this…this _incident_." She threw one hand up. Her heart thundered in her chest. "Have I made myself clear?"

Blake's shoulders dropped, as if his whole body were deflating. He nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

That evening, Henry's gaze followed Elizabeth as she walked across their room and searched through the chest of drawers for a clean pair of pyjamas. It raked over her skin, leaving her nerves on edge, until it felt as though at any minute something inside her might snap.

He set his book down on the bedside table, the pages wedged open, and leant back against the headboard. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Elizabeth said, and she shoved the drawer shut.

"Elizabeth." God, that tone grated on her.

"I said I'm fine."

"I heard what you said." He shook his head ever so slightly, as if in disbelief. "I also heard you shout at Blake today." That hit her like a slap to the face. "I'm trying my best to be patient…I'm trying to understand. But I need you to talk to me." Every word was a prod, loosening the topsoil and exposing the raw earth beneath.

She swallowed, her gaze falling to the pyjamas in her hands. "I'm fine, Henry. There's nothing for us to talk about."

She retreated to the bathroom and locked the door. And as the bolt slid into the frame, it felt—for a second—as though she could block everything and everyone out, and then all this darkness would go away.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

 **D+14**

 **Elizabeth**

The elevator doors opened on the seventh floor to reveal Jay. That couldn't be good. He stepped forward and placed his arm across the doors to stop them from closing. "Good morning, ma'am."

"Good morning, Jay." Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at him. "Are you going to let me out?"

"Actually, Russell Jackson's office called," Jay said. And Elizabeth let out an inward groan. "We've been asked to go to the White House immediately."

"What for?" Elizabeth hit the button for the ground floor, and Jay joined her.

"They didn't say."

Elizabeth gritted her teeth. "Great."

* * *

When they arrived, Elizabeth and Jay were taken straight to the Oval Office. Conrad, Russell and Mike B were sat on the sofas, and a laptop had been set up on the coffee table next to three drained cups. The three men looked up as Elizabeth and Jay entered the room.

"Bess, good to see you." Conrad stood up, and Russell and Mike mirrored him. Their faces were grave, and the blood vessel at Russell's temple was pulsing. Never a promising sign.

"Sir." Elizabeth nodded to him. She shrugged off her coat and folded it over the back of one of the brown leather armchairs. Then she rolled up the sleeves of her blouse. The air had been cool outside, but in there she was already beginning to sweat. "What's this about? Jay said—"

"Why don't you take a seat?" Conrad motioned to the seat on the couch opposite him, next to Mike.

Elizabeth's brow furrowed, but she lowered herself onto the couch. The _thud, thud, thud_ of her heart reverberated through her body. She glanced at Mike—why, exactly, was he there?

Mike leant in towards her. "There's no easy way to say this, Bess." Oh God, what now? "But the media are planning to release the full footage of what happened after you were shot."

Her heart sank, and black dots with haloes of scorching white pricked her eyes. She blinked hard, then pressed her eyes shut. _Thirty-one, thirty-seven, forty-one, forty-three_.

"Surely you can stop them." Jay's voice came from behind her, and the cushion at her back shifted. She opened her eyes again and found Conrad watching her, his face torn. She fought the heat that threatened to rise up through her cheeks. She was stronger than this.

Mike swivelled round. "We can try, but legally speaking, there's not much—"

"Show me," Elizabeth said, and she pointed towards the laptop screen.

A silence hung over the room. Conrad shifted from his seat and knelt before her. He placed his hand over hers where it rested against her knee. He looked up at her with such kindness and compassion that it made her chest clench. "Are you sure, Bess? You don't have to."

"I want to see." She had to see, she had to know exactly what everyone else would see. It was a kind of control, perhaps the only control she could have in this situation.

Conrad retreated, and he gave Russell the nod. The screen flashed into life, but Mike, Conrad and Russell all watched her instead. Of course; they had already seen. They had seen and judged and pitied, just as the world would do when it was released.

 _[There was a gunshot and then screams. Elizabeth looked down at the rosebud of blood that unfurled across her blouse. Conrad caught her, and she half-stumbled, half-sank to the stage. She lay with her head against Conrad's knees as he shouted for help, shouted for an ambulance. Her face was twisted with pain, and spittles of blood broke through her lips._

 _Will appeared. "It's okay, Lizzie. Just breathe."]_

Her breath hitched, and she sank into the cushions of the couch. Just breathe, Lizzie, just breathe. But every lungful was empty.

 _[The agents of the White House Secret Service urged Conrad to leave the stage, but he refused. Will leant over her and tore open her blouse, exposing her blood-stained flesh. When she coughed, a red mist sprayed from her lips.]_

Elizabeth flinched. Her eyes threatened to squeeze shut, but she forced them wide and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

 _["I need a medical kit. Now." There was an undercurrent of panic in Will's voice, as he pressed down on the wounds._

 _"_ _Will." She gasped. And as she coughed this time, crimson bubbles burst from her mouth._

 _Will stroked her hair back from her face. "Don't talk. Just focus on your breathing. Nice and slow. Okay?"_

 _"_ _Stevie…" Her face twisted with pain.]_

Though Stevie didn't appear on screen, hidden from the camera's gaze, her face, pale and panic-stricken flashed, through Elizabeth's mind. The urge to protect her daughter burned through every nerve and every vein, more vital than her need for air.

 _[Will turned around, paused, then nodded his head to the nearest agent. "Get her out of here. Now."_

 _Another agent appeared on the stage. He unzipped the medical kit and laid out the supplies. "What do you need?"_

 _"_ _Two squares of plastic and some tape." Will's hands slipped over Elizabeth's skin. The agent passed him the first piece of plastic, and he placed it on top of one of the wounds. Elizabeth groaned. "I'm sorry, Lizzie, but this is going to hurt. I need you to breathe out as hard as you can."_

 _Elizabeth nodded. But a moment later: "I can't—"_

 _Conrad took hold of her hand. "Breathe out, Bess. Just squeeze my hand."]_

And sitting on the sofa across from her, Conrad had lowered his gaze. His fist clenched as though he could feel the ghost of her touch.

 _[Elizabeth tried again, and Will pressed the plastic down over the wound. "Tape. Three strips. One at the top, two on the sides." Will stared down at her. "Good job, Lizzie. Just one more."_

 _Will took the second patch and applied it to the other wound. "Breath out again."_

 _Elizabeth clutched Conrad's hand, and Will pressed the plastic in place whilst the agent stuck it down._

 _Two paramedics joined Will on stage. He spoke to them. "Gunshot wound to the chest, penetrating the apex of the right lung. Through and through. Suspected haemopneumothorax. I'm going to perform a needle decompression and then straight into the ambulance. I need a large bore needle, and let's get her on oxygen and see if we can get a line in before her veins collapse. I want painkillers and fluids." He looked up at Conrad. "Ease her onto her back."]_

The words came so quick that they blurred together, as did the beats of her heart.

 _[Will took the swab from the paramedic and wiped her skin. He took the needle, allowed one quick glance up to Elizabeth's face—"I'm sorry"—and then he pushed the needle in between her ribs. There was a pop. Blood squirted out and spattered everywhere.]_

Bile burned up through her throat. She ripped her glasses from her face and pressed her finger and thumb against her eyes. _Forty-seven, fifty-three, fifty-nine_. She let out a sharp breath, then opened her eyes again, her fingers tingling as she lowered them back to her lap.

 _[Elizabeth bit down on her lip, cheeks sucked in. There was the barest cry of pain. Will removed the needle, leaving the catheter in place. "Right. Let's get her onto the stretcher and get going."_

 _"_ _Will?" Elizabeth pulled off her oxygen mask. Her voice was weak. "Henry…Tell him…"]_

And Elizabeth's heart stopped. _I like you okay too_ ; that's what she had said. She would never get to tell him that she loved him, would never find a way to articulate just what he meant to her.

 _[Will shook his head. "None of that, thank you." He pushed the mask back in place._

 _Elizabeth's gaze flickered up towards Conrad. Conrad clutched her hand between his own. "Henry's on his way, Bess. You can tell him yourself."_

 _The paramedics lifted her from the stage.]_

The video cut out. Elizabeth smoothed her hands down against her knees. Her palms were slick with sweat and her fingers were still tingling. In the background, the clock tolled. _Tock, tock, tock, tock_. Until it was no longer a clock, but the rhythmic peal of gunfire.

"Bess?" Conrad's voice drifted through from a distance.

She swallowed. She shook her head. She shouldn't be there. She shouldn't have survived.

"Are you okay, Bess?"

All eyes were on her, watching, waiting for her to crumble. She cleared her throat and forced herself to meet Conrad's eye. "We should release it."

"Bess—"

She stood up from the sofa and paced the floor in front of the desk. "If we don't release it today, someone will leak it tomorrow." Better it came out now, under her control. Maybe then the press would get their fill and everything would go back to normal.

"We can't seriously be considering this," Russell said. He gestured towards the screen. "We can't have the Secretary of State topless on international television."

Elizabeth stopped. She spun to Russell, her hands on her hips. Her body felt like the moment when water hits a pan of burning oil. Whoomph. "I'm sorry…what the hell did you just say?" But even Russell wasn't belligerent enough to repeat it. "So, your main issue with…with _this_ —" she stabbed a finger at the screen "—is that I'm a woman?"

Russell shook his head, but at least he had the decency or common sense to lower his gaze. "That's not what I'm saying."

"Then what, exactly, are you saying?" She took a step closer, so that she towered over Russell. "Are you trying to protect my honour, or are my breasts offensive to you?"

Silence hit the room like a wrecking ball. Conrad, Russell and Jay all stared down at their feet. Elizabeth couldn't be sure if the heat that burned through her cheeks came from anger, or some kind of instinctive mortification. But if there was shame in her mind, it was masked by that livid mist, as red as the spray of blood.

Only Mike dared to meet her gaze. He shrugged. "I for one have always had a profound appreciation for your breasts. And you have impeccable taste in underwear."

Elizabeth glared at him. "So not in the mood, Mike." And it felt like she would never be in the mood to tolerate him ever again.

Russell shook his head. His gaze flitted up to her for the briefest of seconds. "We're not discussing this."

"Yet here we are," Elizabeth said, and she motioned to the room around them, "discussing it." She dragged one hand through her hair. "Christ, Russell. They're not some sleazy pics of me in bed." And now everyone blushed. At least her cheeks were so flushed that she was immune. "I think people can tell the difference between soft porn and life-saving medical treatment."

Russell's eyes bugged. "Who knows what they'll look like once the tabloids have mutilated them." And he wasn't wrong; a few stills from the footage treated with Photoshop. Hey, some people probably wouldn't even need that to find the images alluring. "Your approval ratings are sky high. People are getting uncomfortable. Soon they'll get desperate, and things will get dirty."

How many people out there would do anything to scupper her plans for the presidency? Certainly more than zero, and that's all it would take. "Well then, do you have an idea how to suppress this?"

Mike leant forward and rested his elbows against his knees, his palms coming together in front of him. "Without you doing the media circuit—" God, what was it with these people and their insistence that she talk about it? As if she had nothing more worthwhile to say.

"I've already said: No interviews."

Mike shrugged and pulled a face that seemed to sum up the inevitability of the situation. "Then this is bound to leak sooner or later. People want to know what happened, and this won't blow over until they do."

"Then release it."

"Bess," Conrad began. He looked up at her, and something in his eyes said that, out of all the men present, this conversation had unsettled him the most. It reminded her of the look on Henry's face when she had broken it to him that Stevie was having sex. "Do you want to take time to talk to your family first?"

And say what? She shook her head. "I just want this done and gone. Release it."

* * *

 **Henry**

Henry was in the kitchen. He had just put the chicken in the oven when the front door banged. He glanced to the clock. Jason and Alison were watching television in the den, and it was too early for Stevie to be home. God knew when Elizabeth would show up.

There was the clatter of a bag being dumped at the foot of the stairs and shoes being thrown to the floor. Moments later, Stevie traipsed in. Her face was pinched, her eyes rimmed red.

Henry frowned. "Hey, honey. What's wrong?" He pulled his daughter into a hug, and though she pushed back a little at first, she soon relaxed against his chest. "Why are you back so early?"

"Russell sent me home," she whispered into his shoulder.

He looked down at her. "Everything okay?" Russell wouldn't fire her, surely.

Stevie shook her head. Tears brimmed around her eyes, and Henry's stomach clenched. He stroked her hair. Her breath wobbled. "They're…they're—"

"Dad!" Alison's cry cut through them. Her panicked face looked at him over the back of the sofa. His eyes darted from his youngest daughter to the screen. Elizabeth.

"They've released the footage." Stevie gulped. "All of it."

Henry let go of her and strode towards the television. He grabbed the remote, ready to turn it off, but then froze. The footage zipped through the images that had already been burned on his mind. Alison and Jason stared up from the couch, and Stevie joined him at his side. And together, they saw.

A wave of nausea rolled through Henry, and his pulse thudded in his head. He had thought that nothing could be worse than the scene he had imagined. How could he have been so wrong?

 _"_ _Henry…Tell him…"_

Henry closed his eyes, scalded with tears. She had wanted to tell him—more than she had wanted oxygen—she had wanted to tell him the words she would no longer say.

 _"_ _Henry's on his way, Bess. You can tell him yourself."_

Jason buried his mouth against his fist and glared at the screen as the image lingered on the last still of Elizabeth, everyone and everything—including the camera lens itself—covered with her blood. Alison twisted round. Her face was crumpled and tears stained her cheeks. But her gaze sailed past Henry, and her eyes widened. "Mom?"

Henry spun round. And there was Elizabeth, stood at the bottom of the stairs, her arms hanging loose by her sides, her face a mask. "Elizabeth?" his voice cracked.

Elizabeth shook her head. "I don't want to talk about it." Then she turned and trudged up the steps, the belt of her coat trailed after her.

Henry was stuck. He had to follow, had to talk to her. But their children. They were hurting, scared, in need of comfort. Stevie wiped her eyes and nodded towards the stairs. "Go," she said, her voice thick from tears.

When he reached their room, Elizabeth was lying back on the end of the bed, her legs hanging over the side. She stared vacantly up at the ceiling, her gaze so distant that it was as though she could see beyond the ceiling, and the sky, and even the stars.

Henry shut the door behind him. He stood in front of her. It was like that moment when you greet an old friend, only to realise that you've approached a stranger. Without moving, Elizabeth repeated, "I don't want to talk about it."

"Did you know?" She must have known. Russell had known, Stevie had known.

"I said—" Elizabeth dragged out her words, and God how that made his nerves burn.

"And I don't want to hear it." Something inside of him snapped. He gripped his head in both hands. "I'm tired of you telling me over and over that you don't want to talk. I'm tired of saying nothing and pretending like it's okay. Our children are hurt and you can't spend one minute consoling them because you're too afraid to open up."

Elizabeth propped herself up on her elbows. Her gaze hardened on him, and there was an anger there like nothing he had seen in her before. "You wanna talk?" She scrambled her way to standing. In her heels, her eyes were level with his. "Fine, let's talk."

And instantly he wished he had said nothing.

"Tell me, Henry. You're a man. Did you find that footage arousing?"

Henry frowned. What the—?

She stepped closer, and the heat that pulsed from her body washed over him. "Do all men find a woman lying topless and panting for breath arousing—" and the image of her in their bed, pinned beneath him, was superimposed on his mind "—despite the fact that a bullet has ripped through her lung and she's soaked in her own blood?"

The image contorted into a snapshot from the footage; pleasure to pain. What on earth had he walked into? Maybe Will was right; maybe he should have kept his mouth shut.

"Or did I spend my day discussing my breasts with my colleagues for nothing?"

Oh. So that's what had happened. Her eyes softened, awash with sadness and pain. And he wanted to wrap her in his arms, to hold her, to tell everything would be all right. But how could he, when she would only push him away?

"Because apparently the optics of me lying there with my blouse open aren't great." She forced a wry smile, but it turned into a grimace. "But the only way to stop people from talking about this, is to show them anyway." Her gaze turned to the floor. "And the only choice I had in this situation was to let them release it or see it leaked." She shrugged, and her whole body shrank, like a balloon losing its air. "Is that talk enough for you?"

"Elizabeth…" What could he say? "I'm sorry." Sorry that she had to go through that, sorry that he had pushed her to talk when she clearly wasn't ready.

But Elizabeth shook her head to herself, her gaze still buried at her feet. He reached out, his fingertips brushing her elbow, but she nudged him away, and within a second she had fled through the door. Henry chased after her. But by the time he stepped into the entrance hall, the front door had slammed shut and engines revved outside.

He rested his forehead against the wall. Why did it have to happen? Why did it have to be so hard? He took a deep breath and then returned to the den. The kids were huddled together on the couch, the television screen now blank. They turned to look at him.

"Mom's really struggling, isn't she?" Alison said.

"Yeah." Henry sighed. He gave them a sorry smile. "How are you guys doing?" He perched on the coffee table in front of them. His gaze flicking over each of them in turn.

Stevie sank into the cushions; she leant her head back against the top of the couch and gathered her knees to her chest. "People have already started posting memes." She held the screen of her phone towards him.

Henry's stomach clenched. And God forgive him if he ever met someone who had posted anything like that about his wife. "Maybe give social media a break for a while."

"But how could they?" Alison folded her arms across her chest.

Henry shook his head. He could ask the same question. "There are some sick people out there," he said. Sick, vile people with nothing better to do than to find humour in others' misery. "But there are a lot of good people too. People who want to see your mom get better."

"Will she get better?" Jason asked from behind his hand.

"I…" Henry began. His gaze fell away from them. "I don't know."

* * *

Henry sat in their office, his gaze fixed on the front door. It had been over three hours since Elizabeth had stormed out, and he'd heard nothing from her since. Every one of his phone calls had ended in her voicemail. Her tone was cheerful and vibrant in the message, a different person, an echo from another time.

Henry's phone rang, and he jumped. He grabbed it off the desk. Will. "Hello?"

"Hey, Henry," Will said. Henry's breath stilled. "Lizzie's here. I thought you'd want to know."

"Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's fine," Will said. Though of course she was anything but fine. If she was fine, she would be at home with him, not seeking refuge at her brother's house. "She's had a nightcap and calmed down and is now fast asleep in the spare room."

Henry stood up from the chair and reached for the car keys that lay at the edge of the desk. "I'll come and get her."

"Don't," Will said. "She needs some rest."

Henry sank back into the chair. He swapped the phone to the other ear. "This hands off approach isn't working," he said, and he rubbed his brow. "I'm trying to patient with her, to give her space to figure things out, but she's just getting worse."

The line hung in silence. Henry glanced at the screen. The call time was still ticking over.

"She just needs more time," Will said. "The more you push her, the more she'll push you away." But it was easy for him. He didn't have to watch Elizabeth sink a little deeper into this darkness each and every day. He wasn't the one that she was blocking out. He was the one that she ran to, the one she would talk to. He was the one who had been there, the only one who would have had the chance to say goodbye. "I know her, Henry. I've seen this before. She'll come to you when she's ready."

But he knew Lizzie, not Elizabeth. He wasn't watching his wife, his life, fade away.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

 **D+15**

 **Elizabeth**

The hazy light of dawn seeped into the house. Elizabeth eased the front door into its frame, and resting one hand against the wall, she tugged off her heels. She dropped them to the floor, then climbed the stairs. The whir of a hairdryer escaped through the gap beneath Alison's bedroom door and infused the silence of the landing.

Their bed was empty, but Henry's glasses rested atop the bedside table, and the sound of the shower filtered through from the bathroom. Elizabeth removed her coat and laid it on top of the rumpled covers of the bed, then she sat down at the end of the chaise longue. She closed her eyes, and in her mind, Henry's arms snaked around her waist, pulling her back against his chest, as they had so many times before when she had sat right there.

The water stopped. Elizabeth's eyes jolted open and her stomach fluttered. She ran one hand through her hair as she waited. It was probably still disheveled from fitful sleep, though not half as bad as the clothes she had slept in. When Henry appeared, he was clad only in his boxers, and his head was hidden by the towel as he rubbed his hair dry. A small smile sprang to Elizabeth's lips. He was as cute and clueless as the day she had met him, and something about him made her heart melt.

"Hey." It was more of a breath than a word.

Henry jumped and the towel dropped to the floor. His gaze darted around the room before landing on her. "Um…hey. When did you—"

"I just got back," she said. She leant forward, resting her elbows on top of her knees. "I…" the words fought their way back from her tongue, but she forced them out, "I wanted to apologise for shouting at you yesterday. I had a bad day and…" She shook her head. Bad was putting it mildly. What was worse was that Russell's concerns had been right. Oh the memes. That would make for a fun staff meeting.

Henry knelt down in front of her and dipped into her gaze. "You can shout at me all you want." He placed a tentative hand against her knee, and her skin tingled. "I don't care what you say or how you say it, so long as you're talking to me."

Elizabeth nodded. Then she closed her eyes and groaned. "I might have shouted at Russell Jackson about my breasts…in front of the president…and my chief of staff." She pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a long sigh. "The phrases 'soft porn' and 'sleazy pics' might have been thrown in there somewhere too." When Henry didn't reply, she cracked open one eye.

He was grinning, ear to ear. And then he laughed. His whole body shook and tears glistened in his eyes. And the fact that they were happy tears filled her with a rush of warmth. He bit down on his lip, trying to suppress it, but the chortles slipped through.

She swatted his chest. "It's so not funny." But she was already smirking, and she couldn't resist her own laughter as it bubbled up too.

As the fit subsided, she leant forward and rested her forehead against his shoulder. He startled at her touch, but within a second relaxed, and then his palms came to rest against her lower back. She breathed in the scent of soap and aftershave and Henry, and it flowed through her like a lullaby. It felt normal, too normal. Her pulse quickened, her chest tightened, needles stabbed her fingertips. She shouldn't be there. She shouldn't have survived. How on earth had she survived?

Henry drew circles over her back. "Babe?"

She recoiled and pushed his hands off her. He was close, and if she let him get too close, everything would fall apart.

"Elizabeth?" All trace of laughter had deserted Henry's voice.

Her head spun. She shoved past him and stumbled into the bathroom, then slammed the door shut behind her and slid the lock into place. She sank to the floor, knees to her chest, head to her knees. A murder of crows with their wings of darkness flurried through her mind. Their feathers cast shadows. Their beaks shred any glimpse of light. And their caws taunted her: You should have died.

With her mouth buried in the crook of her elbow, Elizabeth screamed.

There was a bang on the door behind her. It shuddered against her back. Henry's voice called through, muffled by the wood. "Elizabeth?" His tone was urgent, both a plea and a demand. "Elizabeth. Open the door."

Elizabeth let out a long breath, her throat raw. And as she scrambled to stop herself from fragmenting, she said the only words that would come to her: "I'm fine."

She rose to her feet, staggered towards the shower and turned the water on. It poured down, its sound drowning out both Henry's voice and the cries in her mind. She unbutton her blouse and let it spool to the floor. The post-surgical bra followed. She stepped towards the mirror. She took a deep breath. She opened her eyes.

The scars cut ugly lines through her flesh, each one a reminder, an echo of the crows: You should have died.

* * *

 **Blake**

"Ma'am?" Blake stood in the doorway to Elizabeth's office, a cup of coffee in hand. Elizabeth was transfixed by the computer screen. He stepped further into the room and raised his voice. "Ma'am?"

Elizabeth flinched. She tore her gaze away and tossed her glasses down on the desk. "What is it, Blake?" She stared at him vacantly. The glimmer of light that used to dance in her eyes—the one that had brought him such anxiety as he dreaded to think what scheme she was concocting—had gone.

"Your coffee, ma'am." He placed the cup down on the desk and slid it towards her.

She nodded, but her gaze had already returned to the screen. "Thanks, Blake."

Blake hovered in front of the desk. "Do you need anything else?"

But she didn't reply, just pulled her glasses back on and stared at the computer. The reflection in her lenses showed her own face, dappled with blood—the footage of the shooting. It sent a pang through Blake's chest, and if he could—if it was his place to do such things—he would have pulled out the cable and let the images die before they stole another piece of her, the woman who could accept anyone for who they were, but for some reason could no longer accept herself.

Blake strode down the corridor to Jay's office. After the staff meeting, everyone else had already gathered there. He entered without knocking. Jay, Matt, Kat and Daisy glanced up at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated. It felt like a betrayal, but who was he betraying: the woman they all knew, or this stranger that was assuming her place?

"Blake?" Jay prompted.

Blake let out a short sigh. "She's watching the footage of the shooting." He shook his head to himself. None of this made sense. "It's just playing on loop."

Jay leant back against the edge of his desk and rubbed his mouth. "She's getting worse. And the whole media thing isn't helping."

Daisy looked up from her seat in one of the armchairs. "It's hard when she's refusing to talk about it. People want to know what happened, how she's coping—"

"Or not coping, more to the point," Matt cut in. He was sat in the adjacent armchair. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, then returned to drumming his fingers against the armrest.

"Whatever," Daisy said. "If she's refusing to make appearances and won't even address what happened, people will continue to talk. They'll think that she's trying to hide something."

"Like what?" Blake asked. People couldn't seriously believe the stories that said she had died and that the State Department had become some kind of puppet regime, or—even worse—the ones that claimed she had been taken over by a lizard person. Though polls suggested at least five percent of the public did. His mind boggled.

"I don't know." Daisy threw her hands up. "There are already so many rumours about her quitting, and people want some facts to back that up."

"She's not quitting though," Jay said. "And we need to push back, to project an image of stability."

"But is she stable?" Kat said. The question on everyone's minds.

Jay paused. He shrugged. "I don't know." His gaze dipped to the floor. "I don't think so."

Kat folded her arms across her chest, and she shifted on her perch against the bookshelf. "What exactly happened in that meeting yesterday?"

Jay snorted. "You don't want to know." Then a faint grimace spread across his face. "Let's just say that she's not exactly acting like herself." His gaze flitted up to meet Blake's. "Have you spoken to Dr McCord recently?"

"He checks in with me every few hours," Blake said. Like clockwork. Though there was never anything to report. The Secretary was always working, and always 'fine'.

"Has he said anything?" Jay asked.

Blake shook his head. "He just sounds concerned." That was putting it mildly. Despairing might be more accurate.

"Let's see how things go," Jay said, "see if the footage being released helps things blow over."

"And if it doesn't?" Kat said. "If she stays like this, or gets worse?"

"I'll give Henry a call—" Jay tapped his fingers against the desk "—and I think we should be liaising with the White House too."

* * *

 **Elizabeth**

The house was still and silent, but a kind of tension hung in the air, as though the walls had drawn a deep breath and then held it. Elizabeth headed straight into their study and chucked her bag and coat down on the armchair in the corner. She sank down into the seat behind her desk and unlocked the screen of her phone. The footage was already waiting for her in the browser.

Her eyes ached as she stared at it, unblinking. How had she survived? And why? If only she could make sense of it, make sense of what had happened, then maybe the darkness would leave her, maybe she would find normality once more.

 _"_ _Henry…Tell him…"_ Tell him I'm sorry, tell him I love him, tell him 'thank you'. And the ghosts of his hands drew circles across her back, lighting her skin and lulling her into calm. And his laughter echoed in her ears and brought sunshine to her heart, like rays filtering through clouds of gloom. Henry, her husband, her undoing. How easily she could have given in.

"Elizabeth?" Henry's voice came from the doorway.

Her heart jumped, and a flash of black lights blared through her head. She switched off the screen and shoved the phone down on the desk. Then she buried her gaze in the stack of paperwork in front of her, despite the pull to look into his eyes.

Henry stepped further into the room, bringing himself to the front of her desk. "What are you doing?"

Elizabeth swallowed. When she spoke, her voice sounded strained. Half from exhaustion, half from screaming her throat raw. "Working." She pulled the paperwork closer, though all the words were a blur.

Henry rested his hands on top of the desk. Her shoulders tensed. He retreated. "Are we going to talk about this morning?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "I've got lots to do."

Henry stayed still for the longest time. His gaze raked over her, as if debating whether to call bullshit or not. Perhaps he would have a few weeks ago, but after her outburst the night before and what had happened that morning, he must have decided it wasn't worth the risk. "Have you eaten?"

She nodded. Blake had brought her a salad at lunchtime. That counted, right? Even if each mouthful weighed heavy in her stomach and she'd only managed to finish half.

"Are you coming to bed?"

To wrap herself in his warmth and surrender to the safety of his arms, to fill her lungs with his scent until it no longer hurt to breathe, to let him tease out this knot of thoughts and darkness—the very thing that was holding her together… "No."

"Okay." Henry's voice was gruff, as if for a moment he had held hope, though he must have known what her answer would be. "Good night, Elizabeth. I love you." And he waited, for an agonising minute he waited. Each second jabbed a needle through her heart. Then, with an almost inaudible sigh, he left.

Elizabeth picked up her phone again and resumed the footage. If only she could make sense of the senseless, things would return to how they were meant to be. _"Henry's on his way, Bess. You can tell him yourself."_ If only she could.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

 **D+18**

 **Henry**

Every time Elizabeth came home, she would sit in their office, her gaze buried in the screen of her phone. Every time that Henry appeared, she would jump and slam the phone down on the desk, only to resume whatever she was doing the moment that he left.

Henry was sat on the end of their bed, half-looking at the buttons of his shirt as he did them up, half-watching Elizabeth as she drifted in silence through their room. How could someone so vibrant be reduced to this shadow? How could someone so alive fade into this spectral being?

The bathroom door shut and the lock slid into place. On the opposite side of the bed, Elizabeth's phone buzzed against the dressing table. Henry stared at it for a long moment, then his gaze darted back to the bathroom door. He stood up and quick steps carried him to the table. His hand hovered over it. Should he? Wouldn't that be violating her trust? But she didn't trust him anymore, and whatever she was looking at on the phone, he had to see.

He clicked the screen on and the passcode prompt appeared. He tapped in the pin—Jason's birthday. The screen flashed: Wrong Passcode. He frowned. Maybe he had hit the wrong button. He entered it again, slowly this time. Wrong Passcode. Shit. How many attempts did he get before it locked? He tapped in Stevie's birthday. Wrong Passcode. Alison's. Wrong Passcode. His own. Wrong Passcode: Phone is disabled, try again in one minute. Damn it.

The sound of the water stopped, and there was a creak as the shower door opened. Henry put the phone back on the table and returned to the end of the bed. Why would she change the passcode if not to block him out?

* * *

Late that afternoon, as Henry was preparing the dinner, the DS agents called to let him know that Jay was there. Henry opened the door and greeted Jay with a smile, or at least the closest thing to a smile that he could muster. "Elizabeth's not here."

Jay nodded. "I know. She's still at the office. Actually, I wanted to speak to you." He followed Henry through to the kitchen. "I was going to call earlier this week, but I thought it was probably best to stop by in person."

"Oh?" Henry turned off the stove and transferred the casserole pot to the oven. Then he leant back against the counter and folded his arms over his chest.

"We're concerned," Jay said. And his face confirmed it. "I mean…coming back to work just days after the shooting—"

"It's crazy." Henry said it, so that Jay wouldn't have to.

Jay gave him a weak smile and nodded. "She doesn't appear to be coping. It's like…" His gaze searched the room for the right phrase.

"Like the light's gone out?" Henry said, and his whole body deflated. "I know."

Jay paused. He rested his hands against the counter and lingered there a moment before meeting Henry's eye. "Did you know she's been watching footage of the shooting on loop?"

Henry's stomach clenched. Was that what she had been doing every night on her phone? Watching herself, what could have been her last moments, watching herself die. He gripped his mouth and shook his head. No. No, he hadn't known.

"We all want Elizabeth to get better, to be herself again," Jay said, "but we don't know how to help her. I didn't know if maybe you…"

"If I knew what to do, I'd be doing it," Henry said. And it wouldn't matter what it was, what lengths he would have to go to, he would do it. "Her brother says just to give her time."

"With all due respect, time seems to be making her worse."

Henry nodded. The glimpses of the old Elizabeth were becoming fewer and farther between. And as much as his heart ached to admit it, he said, "Maybe she needs to get worse, before she can get better." The question was how much worse, and what had to happen before she would see what everyone else could see.

* * *

 **D+20**

 **Henry**

"Dad?" Stevie's voice came from the entrance to the bedroom.

"I'll be down in a minute." Henry struggle with the strap of his watch. How many times had the clasp evaded him, only for Elizabeth to take his hand in her own and to trail her fingertips up to his wrist before securing it for him? But last night, when she finally retreated to bed, it was to the one in the spare room.

"Dad," Stevie repeated, and this time the edge of concern and urgency caught him. He spun round to face his daughter. Her brow was crumpled, her lips drawn to one side. "Mom's been standing in the kitchen for ages just staring into space. It's really freaking us out."

"I'm coming." Henry slipped the watch off and tossed it onto the bed.

Elizabeth was stood at the end of the counter, facing the window, a coffee mug clutched in one hand. She was utterly motionless, except for the slight flicker of her eyes. It looked as though she was watching something more distant than the horizon. Or perhaps something from the depths of her own mind.

"Elizabeth?" Henry approached her. Stevie went to stand with Alison and Jason next to the table, all three of them watching on. "Elizabeth?" Henry took another step closer and laid his hand against her elbow.

Elizabeth flinched, a jolt that shook her whole body. Her hands opened. The mug slipped. It smashed against the floor. Her eyes slammed shut and she gripped the side of the counter. Under her breath, she was muttering something; it sounded like numbers.

"Elizabeth." Henry tried to rub her back but she swatted him away.

"I'm fine, Henry," she said, her tone barbed. "Just leave it." Then she crouched down, picked up the fragments of the coffee mug, and threw them in the bin. When she turned back to face him, droplets of blood were swelling around a small gash on the pad of her thumb.

"Elizabeth." He tried to take her hand, but she drew back, the sharpness of her action driving a splinter through his heart. "You're bleeding."

She looked down at her hand and then raised it to the light that spooled in through the blinds. She stared as the red rivulet trickled across her palm and down over her wrist. Mesmerised. Henry turned to the kids. They were staring too. Horrified.

"You're scaring the kids, you're scaring me. Christ, Elizabeth, this has to stop!"

Whether it was his mention of their children, or the way he blasphemed, Elizabeth snapped back to the room. She ran her hand under the water from the tap and then grabbed one of the clean tea towels and pressed it to the wound. When she retreated upstairs, he didn't follow her. There was more than just her to think about now; he had to think about the kids too.

* * *

 **D+23**

 **Henry**

Once the kids had gone to bed, Henry popped the caps off a couple of beer bottles and joined Will on the couch in the den. A few weeks ago they might have clinked the necks of the bottles and toasted something or someone, but it wasn't a few weeks ago and there had been little to celebrate in life since.

Henry took a swig, then leant forward, his elbows resting against his thighs. He shook his head to himself. "I can't keep doing this, Will. I can't just watch her destroy herself." He stared down at the floor between his feet. "I need to think about the kids."

There was a long pause, then Will leant forward too and twisted to face Henry. He gave a small shrug. "I understand."

Henry let out a bitter laugh. Like hell he understood. "You're not here, Will. You don't see what she's like." He took another swig, tendrils of ice snaking down his throat. "You're not the one that she's pushing away."

"And do you know why she's pushing you away?" Will's tone had sharpened. Henry shook his head to himself and concealed his wry smile against the mouth of the bottle. This gem from psych class ought to be interesting. "Because she loves you more than she loves me."

Henry lowered the bottle, the smile wiped from his face. There was pain in Will's eyes, just a touch, but it was in stark contrast to his usual cool facade. He sometimes forgot that for the longest time it had been just Will and Elizabeth, until the day that he swooped in. Then it was Henry and Elizabeth, and Will at the side. Their relationship was unlike anything he had with his own siblings. Theirs was vital, dependent, the only link to their past.

"I'm her brother, Henry. You're her husband, her best friend, her soulmate. You are the foundation upon which everything else is built."

"Then why is she pushing me away? Why won't she talk to me, touch me, say that she loves me?" Henry swallowed, his throat thick with tears. "It feels…" he took a deep breath and let it tremble out through his lips. "It feels like she doesn't love me at all." And when was the last time that his declarations of love had been met by anything but silence?

Will sank back against the cushions. His fingers fumbled over the label of the bottle, peeling it off in strips. "When we're in pain, it's the ones we love that we hurt the most."

But the time for platitudes had long since passed. Henry's jaw clenched. "I just want her back." And he would give everything he had to bring her back. Whatever God wanted was His.

Will laid his hand against Henry's shoulder. "I know."

"Make her come back." The demand sounded more like a beg, but he no longer cared.

Will retreated into silence. When he spoke, his voice was barely more than a whisper, an echo of the past. "When has anyone ever made Lizzie do anything?"


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

 **D+28**

 **Elizabeth**

Whilst the other members of the National Security Council stood up to leave the Oval Office, Elizabeth gathered together her files and stuffed them into the bag at her feet. Just as she rose from the couch, Conrad turned to her from his perch against the desk. "Bess, can you hang back a minute?"

"Sure, sir," Elizabeth said, though her gaze darted to the others—why had she been singled out?—and she sank back onto the cushion.

Once the room had emptied, Conrad took a seat on the couch opposite, and Russell sat at his side. Both men leant forward, elbows to thighs, hands clutched in front of them. Elizabeth instinctively leant back, her arms folding across her chest.

"How are you doing, Bess?" Conrad asked. He wore that concerned smile, the same one that everyone seemed to greet her with nowadays. A touch too pitying for her taste. It made her feel like a three-legged dog.

She forced a smile, but it made her cheeks ache. "I'm fine, sir."

Conrad's smile faded. "You don't seem yourself." He shook his head and let out a long sigh. "And quite frankly, I'm worried about you."

Elizabeth's pulse quickened, and her nerves jarred. "Did…Did Henry—" She wouldn't put it past him, going straight to Conrad and saying God knows what.

"No, Bess." Conrad stared at her, his gaze unrelenting. "This is coming from me, and from your colleagues, and your staff too." Elizabeth's heart sank with each step. Just how many people had been discussing her? Poor, frail Bess. "Everyone's concerned."

"Really, sir," Elizabeth said, and she let the fake smile drop, "I'm fine."

Conrad and Russell shared a look. The clock ticked away their silence.

Russell leant further forward, bringing himself right to the edge of his seat. He opened his mouth, his hands bouncing slightly as he sought a way to begin. "We think that maybe you should consider taking some time off…a couple of weeks, maybe more. Go away, get some rest."

Fire surged through Elizabeth's veins. She flung her arms up in utter exasperation. "You're the one who told me not to take time off." Back in the hospital, when the possibility had first been raised, Russell was the one arguing against it.

"Because I thought you could cope. I never thought you'd let yourself get like…like this!" Russell flapped one hand at her, his voice rising to meet hers. "Geez, Bess, you make me look positively laid-back."

Elizabeth clenched her jaw, the wave of heat still pulsing through her with every thud of her heartbeat. "So what happened to people thinking I'm weak?" That's what he had insisted, that people would forget her, or worse—lose confidence in her.

Russell took a deep breath and lowered his voice. "Look, Bess." He said it as though he was trying to make her see some plain logic, but nothing was plain to her anymore. "We all want you to be president, but the campaign trail is tough, and at this rate, you won't even get to announce."

But how could she announce when she didn't have anyone's backing? First Henry, then her staff, now Russell and Conrad. They had all said that they would support her, but the more she tried to return to normal, the more that they pushed back against her. Elizabeth turned to Conrad. "Is this a suggestion, sir, or is it an order?" Because he would have to fire her before she backed down.

Conrad pursed his lips. "It's something to think about." So maybe he had learned a little diplomacy from her after all. "At any time, if you want to take up the offer, just let me know."

Elizabeth glanced at her watch, then back to Conrad and Russell. "Was that all? I have a meeting in an hour."

They shared another look, and she didn't need to be a spy to know that this wasn't the outcome they were hoping for. But what did they expect? That she would bow out? Then what?

Conrad shrugged, as if this were a battle not worth fighting. "Sure, Bess." He stood up and stretched out his legs. "I'll be in touch."

Elizabeth stood too, in time with Russell. She nodded to both of them, her brow still pinched, her jaw tight. "Sir. Russell."

Russell massaged his forehead, and turned to Conrad. As Elizabeth pulled the door to, Russell spoke in a low whisper, "She's out of control." And the frustration was evident in his voice.

"Just give her some space," Conrad said.

"How much space can we give her?" She imagined Russell's wild gesticulations. "She can only tread water for so long. She's either got to swim or drown."

Which was worse: the argument over the footage or their desire to see her step down?

* * *

When Elizabeth got back to the office, she told Blake to gather the staff. Then she stood in front of her desk and leant back against it, her hands clutching the edge as she waited for them to file in. They stood in a semicircle before her, grave-faced.

"I'm going to keep this brief," Elizabeth said, and she let her gaze drag over each of them in turn. "You are all entitled to whatever opinions you have regarding my health, and quite frankly, that's none of my business—" her tone rose sharply "—but it becomes my business when people start talking about it to my colleagues and to the president."

They all found sudden interest in the floor, and shifted awkwardly on their feet. Only Jay dared to meet her gaze. "Ma'am, we were just concerned—"

"I get that, Jay. But if you're concerned, you come to me. Not to my husband, not to Russell Jackson, and sure as hell not to President Dalton." Her voice rose in increments until it reached just shy of a shout. "Do I make myself clear?"

Nervous looks shot between them, but there came a muted chorus of, "Yes, ma'am."

"Right." Elizabeth lowered her voice again, as though nothing had happened. "The ambassador should be on his way." She let go of the desk and returned to her seat. "Jay, Kat, I'd like you to stay with me during the meeting. Blake, please will you show him in when he arrives, and then shadow Kat."

* * *

The clock chimed nine. The sound echoed through the silence of the office. It felt like the ghost towns that they had driven through when she was just a little girl. Empty, yet thick with the lingering traces of life.

"Ma'am." Blake popped his head around the door, and Elizabeth's skin prickled. Why did people have to keep jumping out like that? If it was up to her, they'd all be fitted with bells around their ankles. "It's late. Did you want me to call the car round for you?"

Elizabeth kept her gaze on the paperwork in front of her. She pushed her glasses up her nose. "No, thank you, Blake. I've got some files I want to go through."

Blake hovered in the doorway. His concern crept through the air. "Is there anything I can get you? Something to drink, something to eat maybe?" Hadn't he insisted that she ate just an hour ago? Or maybe that was at lunchtime.

"I'm fine, thanks." She waved one hand towards the door. "You should go home."

"I can stay."

Elizabeth looked up from her file. She tipped her glasses so that she could look at him over their rim. "I don't need babysitting." What was it with everyone and thinking that she needed constant monitoring?

"I know, I didn't mean…" Blake lowered his gaze to the floor and shook his head. When he looked up again, the fluster had gone. "I'd like to stay. I've got some filing that I need to catch up on anyway, so it's really no big deal."

Elizabeth eyed him. It was a poor lie. But she nodded.

Blake turned to leave, but then paused. "If you need anything, just shout."

"Thanks, Blake," Elizabeth said. Then she lifted her glasses back into place and returned to the file.

The clock chimed ten, and a minute later, Elizabeth's phone rang. She lifted it from the desk and peered at the screen. Henry. For a second, her thumb hovered over the 'Accept' button— _"We think that maybe you should consider taking some time off"_ —but then she let out a terse breath and hit 'Decline'. She placed the phone back down. A couple more minutes passed, then Blake appeared in the doorway again. "Ma'am, your husband is on the line."

Of course he was. "Tell him I'm working."

"He wants to know what time you'll be home."

"Tell him not to wait up."

Blake hesitated. Then nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

When the clock chimed half-past, Blake came into the office with a couple of pillows and blankets balanced in his arms. Without a word, he placed them on the couch and then left her in peace. Or perhaps not peace. Perhaps silence was all she could hope for.

* * *

 **D+29**

 **Blake**

The couch beneath Blake jolted and his eyes shot open. He blinked, one hand rising to shield his eyes from the glare of artificial light. Through the blear of sleep, he just about made out Matt, Jay and Kat towering over him. Blake groaned. "What time is it?"

He sat up, his body aching from being cramped up on the couch outside the Secretary's office. There were files all over the floor, and the previous night hit him like the vague memory of a drunken encounter. He did not get paid nearly enough.

"Eight o'clock," Jay said.

"Dude," Matt said, "have you been here all night?"

Blake glared up at him. What the hell did he think? "No, I thought I'd forgo a shower, put on the same clothes as yesterday and have a power nap at the office." That slightly sicky feeling roiled up from the base of his stomach, and his head began to spin.

Jay motioned towards the office door. "Has _she_ been here all night?"

Blake nodded, and instantly regretted it. He pinched his eyes and and waited for the spinning to pass. "She wouldn't go home. I thought someone should stay."

Kat shook her head and tutted. "Someone needs to talk to her."

"You're welcome to try," Matt said, "but after that outburst yesterday, I'm not saying anything."

Jay held one hand against his hip, the other rising to massage his forehead. "Maybe we should try speaking to her husband again."

"I spoke to him briefly last night," Blake said. And wasn't that a fun conversation? Trying to explain to Henry that his wife would rather sleep on a couch in her office than be anywhere near him because her brain had gone nuclear. "She's screening his calls."

"Great." Jay threw one hand up. "Just great."

"I could try her brother?" Blake said. They were still talking, the last time he checked. Not about the significant things, but speaking nonetheless.

"Do it," Jay said. Then added, "Discretely."

Blake gave him a look. As if he would be anything other than discrete.

* * *

 **Elizabeth**

Twelve o'clock. Time for Blake to pester her about eating. But it wasn't Blake who appeared at the door, but Will. Elizabeth eyed him. Turning up unannounced on a lunch break wearing a slightly sheepish smile was not promising. "Not you as well," she said. So they had tried talking to Henry, and to Russell and to the president, and now they had resorted to Will

Will held up a paper bag, and the smell of oil-laden takeaway wafted through the room. "I come in peace."

Elizabeth arched one eyebrow at him. "So my staff didn't call you in to lecture me?"

Will shrugged. "They might have, but I'm not the lecturing type." He set the bag down on the coffee table and shot her a wry smile. "I believe that's what your husband's for, or maybe he's just there to watch the house whilst you camp out at your office."

Elizabeth snorted, and leaning back in her chair, she folded her arms across her chest. "So you came here to snipe instead?" Because that was so much better than lecturing.

Will loosened his tie. "I came here for lunch." He pulled out the styrofoam boxes and laid them out on the table. "Look, wholesome, greasy food."

Elizabeth couldn't resist the smile that sprang to her lips. She kicked off her heels beneath the desk and joined him on the couch. For a while, they ate in silence. Just having company, without pestering, without judgement, made a nice change. The tension that bound her body eased a little.

"This reminds me of our old Thanksgivings." Will spoke through a mouthful of noodles.

Elizabeth paused. Her chopsticks hovering over the carton. "Well, that's just depressing." Normal families remembered raucous meals, arguments and laughter with loved ones, home-cooked food that someone had poured hours into preparing. But they weren't normal.

Will laughed to himself. The sound caught her off guard and she waited for what he would say next. "Do you remember that one time you dragged me to Henry's parents' house?"

It had been the second Thanksgiving after she and Henry had met. The first had been an ordeal; it was difficult adjusting to the bustle and noise, and of course, Maureen. The second time, she had taken Will for moral support as much as to prevent him from being alone that year. Part of her felt guilty when she had started spending more and more time with Henry, as if somehow she was leaving her brother out.

"How could I forget?" Elizabeth said. She pointed her chopsticks at him. "I think you lasted all of five minutes before picking a fight."

Will raised his eyebrows at her, at once defensive and on the attack. "Only because his father and sister were making comments and you weren't standing up for yourself." That earnt her a jab from his chopsticks. "Anyway," Will shook his head to himself as he continued his train of thought, "that night, whilst you were asleep in the back of the car, Henry and I talked."

Elizabeth stopped eating. She stuck her chopsticks in the top of the carton and used her tongue to dislodge pieces of food from between her teeth.

"I asked him what his intentions were with you, and he got all flustered and eventually admitted that he wanted to marry you and to spend the rest of his life with you." Elizabeth's heart twinged and her gazed dropped to her lap. "And I said, that was all very well, but if he wanted my blessing, he had to step up and prove that he would always protect you, even if that meant putting you above his own family."

Elizabeth groaned. She imagined poor Henry, sitting in the car, completely clueless as to what was about to hit him. "Please tell me you're kidding."

Will shook his head. "Let me finish." Great, there was more. "So then he says that there's nothing to prove. As far as he's concerned, you are his family, and there's nothing he wouldn't do, no one he wouldn't fight to protect you." Her heart softened, but Will didn't let up. "And being the ass I was, and knowing you, I said: What about when you have to protect her from herself?"

The question expanded into the room and consumed the silence. Elizabeth swallowed, her appetite gone.

"He didn't have an answer to that," Will said. He opened up his arms, gesturing to the walls around them. "And unfortunately here we are, and none of us have an answer to that." He turned to her with a penetrating stare. "How can we protect you when you're so hell-bent on destroying yourself?"

Elizabeth chucked the carton back onto the table. Every muscle clenched, and a twisted core of anger and betrayal burned through her like potassium on water. "You said that you weren't going to lecture me."

Will shook his head. "I've tried sitting back and saying nothing—I told Henry to do the same, to wait until you're ready—but this has gone too far now, Lizzie." His look sharpened. "It has to stop. You have to face up to what happened and deal with it."

Elizabeth jumped up from the couch and paced towards the desk. Her lungs screamed for air, and black and white dots pulsed through her vision. "I don't want to deal with it."

"Why not?"

Elizabeth turned back to face him. "Because then I have to think about it."

"And what's so bad about that?"

"Because when I think about it, it feels like—" she stopped, she couldn't let herself feel it, not even for a second, because if she did, the whole world would shatter around her. She shook her head. "I'm not doing this, Will. I love you, but I think you should go." She marched towards the door, ready to open it for him.

"What about Henry? Do you still love him?" The question hit her like a punch to the stomach. She spun around. Will was stood in the centre of the room, his hands resting against his hips. "He told me that you barely speak to him; that you won't even touch him; and when he tells you that he loves you, you turn him away."

"Will, don't." She meant to sound strong, but her voice cracked. All she could see in her mind was the pain on Henry's face each time that she returned his ' _I love you_ ' with silence; the darkness inside her devouring the voice that shouted ' _I love you too_ '.

"What's happening to you, Lizzie?"

"Just stop." She wrenched open the door and bit down on her lip until the pain suppressed her tears. "I want you to go. Just get out."

"Lizzie."

"Now." She shouted, and a hush fell over the office outside.

Will held up his hands up in defeat. Elizabeth pressed her back to the wall, making way for him to walk by. But as he passed, he stopped. His stare pierced her. "You know, you are many things, Elizabeth, but a coward isn't one of them. You can shut everyone out and make your world smaller and smaller, but that won't undo what happened. Only when you decide to face up to it will you be able to move on." Then he leant in. She turned her head away, her heart hammering in her chest. And he pressed a kiss to her cheek.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

 **D+32**

 **Blake**

Henry led Blake through to the kitchen. The lilt of pop music drifted through the background, weaving through the welcoming warmth of coffee and freshly-melted butter. Stevie was sat on the stool at the end of the island, leaning forward over the counter, a mug cradled between her hands, a plate with the remnants of scrambled eggs sitting in front of her. She took a bite of toast as she looked Blake up and down. "Man, you look rough."

Blake's expression fell. As if he needed reminding. "Three nights on a State Department couch will do that to you." He handed Stevie the slip of paper torn from an old notebook. "Your mother asked me to collect these for her." He wasn't ashamed to say that he felt uncomfortable sifting through his boss's underwear. He could only thank the forces that be that he hadn't been in the Oval Office during breast-gate.

Stevie nodded as she took another bite and dragged her eyes down the list. "I'll put a bag together." She rested the slice of toast against the edge of the plate, then hopped down from the stool and headed upstairs.

Henry took a sip from his own coffee. He looked as exhausted as Blake felt. "How is she?" Blake hesitated. What exactly could he say? Your wife makes brutal dictators look like kittens? The pause stretched almost to breaking point before Henry pressed. "Blake?"

Blake let out a long sigh. "Not good." And Henry's face hardened, as if bracing himself for the worst, though how much worse could it get? "Any time anyone tries to say anything, she snaps and pushes them away." Or slams a door in their face and refuses to talk to them. "I don't know what we should do. We tried speaking to the White House, to see if President Dalton could get through to her, but that backfired." In spectacular fashion. "We tried getting her to talk to her brother—"

"I know." Henry nodded. "He told me."

"Everyone wants to help her, but it feels like she's spiralling out of control." Or that she had lost control long ago, and was now stuck in a tailspin, plummeting towards the ground. "I know that she needs space but…" He had to ask the question that plagued him. "What if we're just enabling her?" You wouldn't give an alcoholic a drink, or a drug addict a hit, so why let her continue on this path to self-destruction? Then again, if an alcoholic was going to drink or a drug addict get high, there was nothing you could do to stop them.

"Here you go." Stevie jumped down the bottom step and passed a kitbag to Blake. He noticed then that she was still wearing her jeans and a plain tee, not the smarter attire she had adopted since becoming Russell Jackson's intern.

Blake frowned at her outfit. "Aren't you working today?"

Stevie shook her head, and Henry said, "I'm taking the kids away for the weekend." He motioned for Blake to follow as he headed back towards the front door. "We've all spent the last month trying to protect Elizabeth from herself, but maybe it's time for us to think about how we can protect ourselves from her."

Surely he couldn't mean giving up on her? Blake waited in the entrance hall whilst Henry ducked into the office. He returned a moment later with an envelope in hand. "She won't take my calls, but please can you make sure she get this."

"Of course." Blake nodded. He placed one hand on the door handle. "And if there's anything else I can do, anything at all—"

"I think everyone's done as much as they can." Henry gave him a taut smile. "I appreciate you looking after her, Blake. Just remember to look after yourself too."

* * *

 **Elizabeth**

There was a knock at the door and Blake entered the office before Elizabeth had time to call him through. He set one of Henry's old kitbags down just inside the door, and then strode towards her, a letter in hand. He thrust it at her.

Elizabeth stared at the handwriting. Henry's. When they were first married and he was overseas, she would count down the days until the next letter arrived, her heart jumping each time she laid her eyes on that handwriting. Her heart fluttered now, and it stirred a question from the darkness. Chaos theory. _If a butterfly flaps its wings in Brazil, does it set off a tornado in Texas?_

She placed the letter down on the desk, but Blake snatched it up and shoved it at her again. "Read it." He snapped. Blake, the man so eager to please that he had posed for a picture with a neo-Nazi, had snapped. At her. His boss. The Secretary of State. She opened her mouth, half in shock, half ready to put him in line, but Blake cut her off. "Just read it."

Elizabeth frowned up at him, but she slipped one finger beneath the flap and ripped it open. She pulled the letter out and chucked the envelope down on the desk. Only when she had pushed her glasses on and her gaze fell to the writing did Blake retreat from the room.

 _Dear Elizabeth,_

 _I love you more than any words can say, and I will always be here for you. No matter what happens, I will always support you. I can't stop you from hurting yourself, but I love you too much just to sit back and watch. I can't let our children see it either. I know that if you were well, you would agree with me, so I'm taking them back to the horse farm. I hope that you can find a way through this and that you—the real you—can come back to us. We miss you, and we will continue to wait for you, no matter how long it takes._

 _All my love,_

 _Henry._

Elizabeth read the letter again, and again, until each word curved along the folds of her mind. She set it down on her desk and removed her glasses. Then she spun the chair round to face the photographs of her family. The children smiled back at her, young and beautiful and carefree. And there was Henry, stood behind her with his arms tight around her waist, his eyes alight as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. Her heart clenched. And it opened up a void inside her. Every last emotion poured in until there was nothing but the gnaw of emptiness left. She had pushed them out to make herself stronger, to satisfy the hunger of the darkness that had infected her soul. But now she was alone, now she was weak, and despite everything she had done to hold her world together, it was crumbling around her.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

 **D+32**

 **Elizabeth**

The car rolled up to the house, headlights dimmed, gravel crunching beneath the wheels. It came to a stop, but Elizabeth didn't move from the backseat. She peered out of the window. The house was dark, the curtains drawn. Her heart thudded, its pulse a roar in her ears.

Matt twisted round in the driver's seat. "Everything okay, ma'am?"

"Everything's fine." Elizabeth gave him a frail smile. She turned back to the house. Maybe it was a mistake coming so late. Maybe she should have stayed at the office, or gone back home and waited there. But she had waited long enough—her family had waited long enough. At some point, you had to go all in.

"Would you like me to carry your bag inside?" He unbuckled his seat belt and reached for the door handle, but Elizabeth held her hand up to stop him.

"Thanks, but I can manage." She lingered a moment longer, then took a deep breath and opened the door. With kitbag in hand, she strode across the gravel to the porch, the heels of her shoes slipping into the gaps, then crouched down and squinted at the lock as she guided the key in.

She shut the door behind her with a soft click then slipped off her shoes. There was the faint trace of garlic in the air, and folded up pizza boxes stuck out of the kitchen bin. She tiptoed up the stairs, the carpet yielding beneath her feet. Apart from the distant rustle of leaves in the wind, the house was silent.

She eased open the door to her and Henry's bedroom and placed her bag down at the end of the bed. Henry was curled up on his side, facing the middle of the mattress. Her pillow was clutched in his arms—the place where she ached to be, but had feared for so long.

She shucked off her jacket. Then, as she perched next to him, she reached out and stroked his hair, her fingertips toying with the wisps at the nape of his neck. He let out a soft snore, and Elizabeth's heart both twinged and melted at the same time. Maybe she should let him sleep.

She stood up, but as soon as her weight shifted from the mattress, his eyes jolted open. "Elizabeth?" He scrambled to sitting. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he propped himself up against the headboard. "You came?" He sounded surprised, but also scared, as if she might be nothing more than a vision and at any moment she might disappear.

Elizabeth sat back down. She nodded. She had come, because shutting him out was no longer an option. She had to let him in.

She cupped his jaw, her hand shaking, and she brushed her thumb over his cheekbone. Was this okay? After weeks of pushing him aside, would he turn her away? But his eyes locked on hers, pools of black in the dim light, and he nuzzled against her palm and pressed a kiss to its centre.

"I…" she began, but the words stuck in her throat. How could she even begin to explain the thoughts that raged through her mind? "I…" she tried again, but it was like her teeth had formed a dam. She shook her head, her gaze falling away from his. Then her hand fell away too, and she bunched her fists in her lap. Will was right: she was a coward.

Henry scooted over in the bed and lifted the sheets. "Let me hold you?"

It was a question. The darkness said no, but she screamed yes. She wanted nothing more than for him to hold her, for him to make her feel safe in his arms. She nodded and crawled in next to him. The mattress was warm from his body heat, and as she curled up, he pressed his chest to her back. His heartbeat thudded through her, until she could no longer distinguish it from her own. His hand snaked across her waist, finding her fingers and interlacing them with his. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder and then to the nape of her neck, and her skin quivered.

"Henry?" It came out as more of a breath than a word.

"Mmm?" He mumbled, and the sound reverberated through her neck.

"I love you so much it hurts." And it did, more than any bullet, because dying was nothing compared to the thought of not being with him. His grip on her tightened, and as he buried his face between her shoulder blades, tears dampened her t-shirt and soaked through to her skin. Her heart ached for him. How could she have done this to him? She squeezed his hand, if only to remind him that she was there and she wasn't leaving.

He took a deep breath and then sighed it out. The air rushed from his lungs and tickled her skin. He peppered kisses to her shoulder and the curve of her neck, and as he did, her muscles relaxed and the words began to flow over the cusp of the dam.

"The world used to make sense," she whispered, her voice sounding foreign as it echoed through the night, "but then this horrible thing happened and nothing makes sense anymore." She had woken up in that hospital bed to find the world irrevocably changed, and not only did she have to navigate this new land, but she had to find a place for herself in it too. "I don't want to feel the way that I do. I thought that maybe if I just pretended that it never happened, then all these feelings would go away." The fear, the overwhelming fear, forever lurking in the shadows of her mind. "But they keep creeping up on me, and the only way to push them down is to numb myself to everything, to block out the world." She shook her head to herself, mussing her hair against the pillow. "Only that isn't working anymore, and it feels like everything I'm doing to hold myself together is only making me fall apart." She clenched his hand. "I just want it to stop. I just want to go back to how we were before."

Henry rested his chin against the jut of her shoulder. His voice was thick. "We can't go back, only move on. But that means facing those feelings and dealing with them. And maybe that means falling apart—" he squeezed her tighter "—but don't worry if you do, because I'm here to catch the pieces, and I will put you back together."

Elizabeth turned her head so that her nose bumped against his. "Even though I've been a total bitch for the last month?"

"There is nothing that you could do that would stop me from loving you." His breath was hot against her lips.

"And what about everyone else? I've been a crappy mother, a horrible boss, I was rude to Conrad—" rude was putting it mildly, and that wasn't even considering her outburst "—I shouted at Will." A jolt of pain surged through her chest and stole her breath. How could she have shouted at Will when he was the one who had saved her, who had stood by her even as she pushed everyone else away?

"They all understand. You're only human." He nuzzled his nose against hers. Her breath hitched in her throat, and she twisted further, until her lips were just a millimetre away from his. "They want to see you get better, that's all."

"And what if I can't get better?" She swallowed, her gaze never leaving his lips. "What if I'm permanently broken?"

He shrugged. "Then it's a good thing that there's a whole hoard of lizard people waiting to assume your identity."

She laughed, and it shook through her, lighting every nerve in her body. But the kids were sleeping, and she didn't want to wake them, so she bit her lip to suppress the sound. He smiled back at her, and it was perhaps the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. "I've missed you," she said. And it tugged at her heart, the regret of wasted time.

"I'm here," he said. "And I know this isn't going to be easy. It'll be two steps forward, one step back. But I'll always be here with you. And you can shout at me and scream at me—whatever you need—just please don't shut me out."

"Okay." She nodded. She looked into his eyes, so full of love and awe. Then she leant in and kissed him. And finally she found a place in this world where she belonged.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

 **D+33**

 **Henry**

Henry awoke with Elizabeth in his arms, their hands entwined and resting against her stomach. She still wore her jeans and tee from the night before. He pressed a kiss to her hair, breathing in the scent of coconut, orange blossom and musk that was so distinctively Elizabeth and synonymous with home. She let out a short sigh and arched into his embrace.

"Good morning," she murmured, her voice muffled by the pillow. A sleepy smile lingered in her words. She let go of his hand and rolled over to face him. With her head resting against his chest, she barely stifled a yawn.

He kissed the top of her head. "Good morning, yourself. How are you feeling?"

"Tired," she said. Then her stomach growled. She chuckled. "And hungry."

"Breakfast in bed?"

She shook her head, and her hair tickled his chin. "I want to see the kids." She pulled back slightly and looked up at him. The sparkle had returned to her eyes, not as bright as before, but there nonetheless. "I'm amazed that you actually managed to get them here."

"I know, and I didn't even have to bribe them." He rested his hand against the small of her back and pulled her close, relishing the warmth of her body against his. When was the last time she had let him hold her? Another voice added: How long it would last before she pushed him away again?

But as she slid her hands up his chest, her fingertips leaving trails that burned, those thoughts fled from his mind. She was here now, she was safe, they were going to work through this. "Kiss me?" she said, then bit her lip, and his whole body groaned.

"Dad!"

Elizabeth jumped at Stevie's shout. Henry's grip on her tightened as she pressed her forehead to his chest and let out a long, shaky breath. He rubbed his hand over her back, drawing circles around her lower spine.

The bedroom door swung open. "Why's there a load of security outside?" Stevie's gaze fell to the bed, and she frowned. "Shit, sorry, I didn't know—"

"Mom arrived last night," Henry said. He nodded at the door. "We'll be down in a minute."

Stevie pressed her lips into a firm line, turned on her heel and shut the door behind her.

Henry kissed the top of Elizabeth's head and murmured into her hair, "You okay?"

"I'm—" Elizabeth began. But then she stopped and cleared her throat. "It startled me…That happens a lot now."

And though Henry's chest ached to hear it, to hear the vulnerability in her voice, he thanked God that her vocabulary had expanded beyond ' _I'm fine_ '. He continued to draw circles over her back, the thin cotton of her t-shirt between his fingertips and her skin. "Remember when you came back from Iran and even the sound of the kettle clicking off would make you jump?" She nodded against him. "Well, we got through that, and we'll get through this too." She looked up at him. The spark in her eyes had dimmed. "Thank you for telling me," he said, and he meant every word. "Thank you for letting me in." His gaze flitted to her lips, but he didn't want to presume.

She gave him a soft smile, and then leant in, her chest surging against his, and she claimed his lips in a short yet sweet kiss. It was like reliving their first kisses all over again, when they were testing the boundaries, feeling the urge to be close and the fear of being pushed away.

When she pulled back, she looked into his eyes as if searching for something deep inside of him, and whatever it was, he would have given it willingly. "I love you," she said; an affirmation.

"I love you too." He stroked her hair back from her face. In the morning light, the golden locks glowed like a halo. Maybe she'd laugh at him if he said so; maybe she'd retreat into her shell, the familiarity too much too soon. So instead he just smiled at her, grateful to have her in his arms, grateful for whatever glimpses she was able to give him. "I'd better make sure they're not burning the kitchen down. You coming?"

She nodded. "I might take a quick shower first. I smell like the State Department." She grinned, and he chuckled, a lightness blossoming through his chest. And there was a glimmer of how things were before, and how they might be.

* * *

Three tense faces looked up at Henry as he entered the kitchen. The children were sat at the table. Each cradled a mug. Henry smiled at them. "Good morning." It was meant to be reassuring, but their expressions remained torn. He poured himself a cup of coffee and then sat down, taking the seat at the head of the table.

"I'm sorry," Stevie began, "I didn't—"

But Henry shook his head. "Your mom arrived late last night. She's realised that she's not exactly been coping with what happened, but she wants to get better." Stevie and Alison were adults, Jason was almost an adult; they deserved to be treated as such when it came to discussing their mother.

Alison tugged her sleeves down over her hands and then folded her arms across her chest. "Is she okay?"

"No," Henry said, "but acknowledging what she's feeling is the first step." His breath escaped in a long sigh. If only it were simple. If only it were a case of taking a pill and everything would be better. "It's going to take time and a lot of patience, and maybe a few false starts."

"How can we help?" Jason clutched his mug as though it were a lifebelt.

"Listen, support, try not to judge." Henry studied the three of them in turn. "You are kind, compassionate, attentive people. I cannot begin to describe how proud I am of all of you for the way you've handled yourselves over the last month." He laid his hand against Stevie's forearm, and his gaze flitted between Alison and Jason. "Just be yourselves, and that will be more than enough." He smiled again, an attempt to lift the mood. "Now, let's have some breakfast, then what do you guys want to do today?"

"We were going to take the horses out," Alison said. Her brow was still pinched. "But maybe we should stay here and spend time with Mom instead?"

"You should go out," Henry said, "make the most of the countryside whilst you're here. I'll stay with Mom." Elizabeth had made a start in opening up to him, but there would be many more conversation to come. "Then we can have family time this evening, okay?"

Alison and Jason got up from their chairs; they reached down the plates and bowls, and foraged for cereal in the cupboard. Stevie stayed in her seat. Her lips were drawn tight, her brow creased. "Dad?"

"What is it, sweetheart?"

Stevie looked down to the table. Her eyes were moist. Henry tried to take her hand, but she folded them both in her lap. "When Mom was in hospital and we came to visit that time…I hung back whilst you walked Ali and Jason to the car…" Henry frowned. Where was this going? "When I was there, I gave Mom her phone. Russell asked me to pass it on. He told me not to tell you, and I didn't because Mom said it was fine. But then—" Her lip trembled.

"Hey, hey, hey." Henry stood up. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her tight. None of this was her fault. "Russell's an ass, but your mom would have got her hands on that phone one way or the other. You didn't cause this, you hear me?"

Stevie gave a half nod. "But it was after that that she started working again. And I thought, maybe if I hadn't given her the phone, she wouldn't have been able to contact her staff and she would have come home and rested and none of this would have happened."

"Stevie, there was a phone at the nurses's station just outside her room. Your mother can't remember the date of our anniversary, but she knows Blake's number off by heart." That earnt him a small smile from his daughter. "None of this is anyone's fault, okay?"

Stevie nodded, properly this time, and she wiped away her tears with the back of her hand.

"You're a good daughter," Henry said, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Never doubt that." A floorboard creaked and footsteps padded down the stairs. His pulse quickened. "Let's get some breakfast." How was this attempt at normality going to go?

Elizabeth stood in the doorway. Her hair was damp from the shower, and she had changed into a new pair of jeans and a blue plaid shirt. With the tension in her body and her wide eyes, she looked as if she might bolt at any minute.

"Hey, babe." Henry offered her a warm smile and pulled a chair out for her. Once she had sat down, he laid his hands on her shoulders and massaged them lightly, and she relaxed into his touch. "What can I get you?"

"Coffee, please," she said, "and do we have any granola?"

Alison reached down a jar from the cupboard, and passed it to Elizabeth. "We've got that honey one that you like." Her smile was a little too wide, as if she were trying to mask any trace of concern. "We're glad that you could make it here this weekend."

"Thanks, Noodle." Elizabeth looked up and caught Henry's eye as he placed a mug of coffee in front of her. Then she turned back to the table as the children sat down. Henry leant against the countertop, taking sips from his coffee as Elizabeth nursed her own. There had always been something feline about her, but now she looked as timid as a mouse. "I'm guessing your father's just spoken to you…" The three children watched her, spoons poised over their bowls. In the silence, Henry's heart pounded loud enough that he was sure everyone would hear. "I know that I've not been myself lately, and I'm sorry, and I want to thank you for being patient with me." Her mouth hung open for a second, as if there were more that she wanted to say, but then she shook her head. Perhaps it was too soon.

Jason stood up from his chair and wrapped his arms around his mother. His face formed a fierce pout, and Henry had no doubt in that moment that—just like himself—his son would do anything to protect her. Chairs scraped over the floor as Alison and Stevie joined him. Stevie spoke for all of them. "We're team McCord; we stick together."

* * *

The children had taken the horses out after breakfast, leaving Henry and Elizabeth alone in the house. Elizabeth was curled up on the couch. She held a book in her hands, but she hadn't turned a page in over half an hour, and her gaze was distant, just like it had been when she had sat in their office, staring at the footage on her phone. Maybe it was so embedded in her mind that she no longer needed the screen in order to watch it.

Henry sat down next to her. He waited until she looked up before he laid his hand on her knee, not wanting to startle her. "Hey."

Elizabeth closed the book and set it down on the floor. She stared at her lap. In the background, the clock ticked away the minutes. Henry squeezed her knee. "Do you want to talk?"

 _Tick, tick, tick, tick._

She was going to shut down again. "Eliz—"

"First I heard the shot and then the glass shattering, and I saw a flash of Iran." She swallowed. The sound echoed through the room. Henry's heart thrummed. He held his breath, lest the slightest noise disturb her. "I thought I was having a panic attack, and all I could think was ' _Please not now, please not in front of all these people_ '."

She shook her head to herself. Embarrassed perhaps? Either at the panic attacks, or her worries about what people would think of them.

"And then I couldn't breathe." Her gaze flicked up to him for a second. "I wished that you were there, because you would know what to do. But then I saw Conrad's face and the security guards storming the stage, and I realised that it wasn't a panic attack. It was real."

She plucked pieces of lint from her jeans, and she frowned, as though she could mask her fear with concentration. "I saw Will's face—" her voice cracked, and it shattered his heart "—and my God, he was just a child again. I could see myself through his eyes—he was looking at me as if I were Mom—and I knew then that I was going to die."

Tears had welled around the rims of her eyes, but she swiped them away with the back of her hand. "Stevie was there—" Henry's heart lurched at their daughter's name "—and everything inside of me screamed to protect her, to stop her from seeing me…but I couldn't breathe, I couldn't do anything, and she was just staring."

Elizabeth closed her eyes and a shaky breath escaped her lips. "Then she was gone, and I realised that I was never going to get say goodbye. Not to Stevie, nor Alison, nor Jason." She lifted her gaze to meet his. "How could I not say goodbye to you? How could I not tell you how much I love you?"

But he didn't have an answer for that. He opened his arms to her, and she crawled across the couch and tucked herself against his chest. She rested her head over his heart, as if she could decipher the message in its rhythm, and her tears spilled down her cheeks onto his shirt. He tried to blink back his own tears, but they just spiked his lashes and rendered the world a blur.

Elizabeth's weight shifted above him. She moved so that she sat astride his legs, and his hands rose to her hips to steady her. She leant in, pupils wide, her golden hair falling forward as she cupped his jaw and kissed the tears from his cheeks. Then she rested her forehead against his, nose to nose, her breath coming in hot puffs against his lips. She lowered her mouth to his. It was the barest touch at first, so light he could have imagined it. But then she nipped at him and drew him in like a lungful of air, and before he knew it, her tongue was against his, her nails scraping over his scalp. He moaned, and her lips curled against his. His hands moved beneath her shirt, his fingertips hungry for the touch of her skin. She was so warm, so soft, so alive. His hands ventured higher—up, up, up—until his thumb brushed over the delicate ridge of the scar that curved beneath her right breast.

"Stop!" Elizabeth froze. She drew back sharply, and Henry let go, his heart racing. His stomach clenched, and the shock that prickled through every nerve of his body was mirrored on her face. She pressed one hand to her forehead, her eyes closed. Her chest heaved for breath. Henry laid his fingertips against her hip, but she flinched. "Don't." She climbed off his lap. Her feet stumbled as they found the floor. She strode away from the couch and made a bolt for the stairs. "I can't…I can't do this."

"Elizabeth," Henry called after her. His voice was thick, a heady mix of lust and loss and fear. He followed her as her footsteps pounded up the stairs and into their room. "Elizabeth."

He found her pacing the floor at the end of their bed. One hand pinched her temples, the other clutched her hip. "I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be here."

Henry swallowed. "You want to go home?"

Elizabeth stopped. She stood with her back to him. The ends of her hair danced around her shoulders as she shook her head. "I shouldn't _be here_."

Henry's chest tightened. Oh. She meant…He wanted to tell her not to say such a thing, but he couldn't; he couldn't ask her to open up, to share her feelings, only to shut them down again because he couldn't bear to hear such dark thoughts. "None of us should be here," he said. "This is just one version of billions upon billions of possible universes. The chances that we are here right now are infinitesimally small." He took a step closer to her. The floorboard creaked beneath him, and her shoulders jumped. "I don't know how you survived, or why. But I believe that you're here for a reason, and I am eternally grateful for that." He took another step, and this time she didn't flinch. "I love you, every last part of you, especially your scars—" She shook her head at that and let out a kind of strangled squeal, and he remembered all the times she had hidden in the bathroom, door locked—she hadn't wanted him to see. "Your scars mean that you're alive, Elizabeth, that you're here with me."

He took a final step to reach her. He paused, letting her ease into his presence. Then he placed his hands on her hips and turned her round to face him. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her bottom lip pinned between her teeth, one hand still pressed to her forehead. Henry moved his fingers to the top button of her shirt. He undid it. Then the second one. He peeled back the fabric and exposed the creamy flesh beneath her collarbone. She drew in a sharp breath. A red starburst marked the point where the bullet had hit her body. She trembled as he lowered his lips to the scar and covered it with a tender kiss.

The front door slammed, and the lilt of their children's voices and laughter drifted up the stairs. "We're back," Alison called.

Elizabeth cleared her throat. "Just coming," she shouted, and she stepped away from Henry, her fingers fumbling to do up the buttons. She swiped the tears from her eyes and pushed past him, leaving him alone in the silence of their room.

* * *

 **Elizabeth**

Not a minute passed throughout the rest of the day without Henry's gaze tingling over Elizabeth's skin. She hadn't meant to shout at him, she didn't want him to stop. But it was as though her body reacted before her mind could, and the words blurted out before she had even formed a thought. Then he had held her and kissed her so tenderly. And the feel of his lips on her chest lingered like an intoxicating aroma. They hadn't had a moment alone since, and if they did, she didn't know if she would find the right words.

That evening, whilst the kids and Henry played a game of monopoly, Elizabeth curled up on the couch and read the book that Kat had written about her avocado farm. It had been lying on a shelf ever since she had bought it, waiting for a spare moment of her time. Henry was sat on the floor, his back to the couch. The cushion shifted slightly every time that he turned to glance up at her.

When the game had finished, the kids hugged her and retreated to their rooms. Henry touched her knee. She looked up. "I'm heading up too," he said. "Are you coming?"

She flicked forward through the book. Only ten more pages until the end of the chapter. She nodded. "In a minute."

He paused, as if not sure if she was telling the truth, not sure if he should check if she was okay. But then he nodded too, and a moment later, his footsteps disappeared up the stairs.

She finished the chapter, though only every other word went in. The rest slipped away, lost to the thoughts of Henry's lips against her scar, his fingertips dancing over her skin, his scent, the pure love and lust in his eyes when she had kissed him. And her body ached.

Henry was sat on their bed in his boxers and tee when she joined him. He looked up at her with a soft smile, then placed his book on the bedside table and balanced his glasses on top. She sat on the edge of the bed next to him, and then laid her head in his lap. He stroked her hair, and a sense of calm washed over her, like waves lapping the shore and carrying the sands of worry away.

"Henry?" She traced her fingers up and down the outside of his knee. "Make love to me?"

His hand stopped. She lifted her head and sat up, twisting round to face him. His eyes were all pupil, and his mouth hung ever so slightly open. Her stomach fluttered—maybe he didn't want to—but she held his gaze. "Elizabeth." His voice was husky. He swallowed and his throat bobbed. Oh, he wanted to. "You don't have to…if you're not ready…"

She crawled into his lap, then sitting astride his thighs, she undid the buttons of her shirt, slowly, her gaze never leaving his eyes. But with each button, his gaze lowered. She shrugged off her shirt and let it spool on the floor. Then she undid the poppers at the front of her bra and let that fall away too.

Henry's gaze found her scars. The star at the top of her chest, the small line at the side where the chest drain had been, the arc that curved beneath her breast. She held her breath, and her head spun as she awaited his verdict.

He looked up at her, almost pleadingly. She nodded. And he brought his lips to her skin. He trailed kisses along every last millimetre of that red flesh, and she shivered in response. She was alive. When he looked up at her again, his eyes were full of so much love and wonder that it brought tears to her eyes. He brushed them away with his thumbs. "You are so beautiful. I love you." His hands moved to circle her waist, his grip gentle yet firm. He pecked at her lips. "I love you."

"I love you too." She pressed her forehead to his, and their eyes locked. "Slowly."

And he nodded. They would savour every moment as if it were their last.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

 **D+34**

 **Elizabeth**

Rays of sunlight streamed in through the curtains. Elizabeth nestled against the warmth of Henry's chest, relishing the skin on skin, his limbs tangled through hers. He let out a small groan that reverberated through her back and buzzed in her chest. She chuckled, then brought the knot of their hands to her lips. She pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist.

"I missed you." He mumbled the words into her shoulder, then nipped the skin at the base of her neck, eliciting a shudder that tingled down her spine.

She arched into him. "I can tell."

He groaned again, then flipped her onto her back and rolled on top of her. He placed his forearms either side of her, his body flush against hers as he claimed her lips in a searing kiss. She ran her fingers through his hair, and dragged her nails over his scalp, earning another throaty moan. When he pulled back, she cupped his cheek and stared up into his eyes. "I wish we could stay here forever. Right here, right now."

His eyes sparkled as he smiled. "You've got my vote."

Her brow furrowed. She toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. "And what if, at some point, I decide to run? Do I have your vote for that too?"

He shifted his weight onto one arm, freeing his hand to stroke the strands of hair back from her forehead. He pecked her lips, then drew back just enough that he could stare down into her eyes. "Elizabeth, I'm with you, always. If you want to run, I'll be the first one in the queue." He pecked her lips again, then grinned. "Plus, when you're president, you'll have ten times the security."

She laughed, and her body shook against his. He trailed his lips down her neck, past her collarbone—stopping to press a kiss to the star—then over her breast, lingering on the arc beneath as he relearnt her body. Then he went lower still, over the soft curve of her stomach, and his tongue darted out to dip into her tummy button. Her breath hitched. He glanced up. His eyes were blown, two pools of darkness just waiting for her to fall into. "Can I?"

"Well you sure as hell better not stop now," she said, and she shared his smile. He reached up and laced his fingers through hers, then returned his lips to their descent.

There was a tapping at the door, and they both froze. Stevie called through, "Mom, Dad, are you decent?"

Elizabeth propped herself up on her elbows and looked down at her husband, her eyes wide to match his. In unison, they shouted, "No."

There was a pause. Then Stevie murmured, "Oh my god, gross!" Elizabeth swore she could hear the blush in their daughter's voice. "Fine, well, we're going out, just so you know."

"Have fun," Henry shouted into the silence. And Elizabeth stifled a laugh in her fist. Henry looked up at her. "What was I meant to say?"

Elizabeth shook her head. There was nothing that he could say to relieve that embarrassment. "At least she knocked this time." She ran her hand through Henry's hair as he rested his chin against her stomach. Her heart sank as Stevie's face flashed through her mind, torn with anguish as Will shouted for someone to take her away. Elizabeth frowned. "I think I've already scarred her for life."

Henry crawled up her body and lay at her side. He gathered her against his chest, his hand drawing lazy circles over the small of her back. "She's okay, babe. They're all okay." But all the carefree passion of moments before had gone, replaced by the gnaw of guilt. Henry pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Her heart only sank deeper. After such a beautiful night together, why did this…this _thing_ that happened to her have to resurface and ruin it?

"I'm sorry," she said. And she closed her eyes and buried her face in Henry's chest.

"Don't be. We'll get through this, remember, one step at a time."

* * *

 **Henry**

Whilst Henry washed the dishes after breakfast, Elizabeth grabbed her phone and disappeared onto the porch. Did she still watch the footage? He had already dried and put the dishes away by the time that she returned. She placed her phone down on the side and frowned at it for a moment. Henry leant back against the countertop, watching her. "Everything okay?"

She glanced up and offered him a small smile, but she looked slightly dazed.

"Come here." He opened his arms to her, and she stepped into his embrace, her forehead coming to rest against his shoulder. "I need to take the kids back, but maybe we should stay here a while. Give you a chance to rest."

Elizabeth shook her head against him. "I need to get back too."

Henry tensed. "Oh." He had thought—had assumed—that she would be taking time off work to focus on her recovery. Wasn't that what this whole weekend had been about?

Elizabeth drew back slightly. "I…um…I spoke to Dr Sherman." Her gaze fixed on his chest. Her hands slid up and smoothed non-existent creases from his shirt. "She said that she can fit me in for sessions every day this week. I thought once a week wouldn't be enough, not yet."

"Oh," he repeated, and this time he smiled, and his chest swelled with pride. Even at her most depleted, his wife was still the strongest woman he knew.

She sighed. "And I spoke to Conrad. Told him I was thinking of taking a couple of weeks off, so Deputy Secretary Cushing will have to sit in for a while."

"And how do you feel about that?" He tucked her hair back behind her ear.

She shrugged. "Even Russell took time off to go whale watching."

He chuckled, then placed one finger beneath her chin and tilted it up so that her gaze met his. "I'm proud of you, you know that?" She looked uncertain, and her gaze dipped again. But at least she didn't pull away; he cherished the gentle warmth of her body against his own.

"I still need to phone Will, to admit that he was right." She groaned. "He's going to be even more insufferable than ever." She turned and leant her back against his chest, and he lowered his arms to encircle her waist.

"Babe, he saved your life." He placed a kiss to her cheek and then nuzzled the spot behind her ear. She tilted her head, granting him access. A small sigh escaped her lips, and memories of the night before flooded his mind. "He can be as insufferable as he wants. I don't care."

"You say that now." She patted his hands where they rested against her lower abdomen. "Just give it six months."

"You love him really." There was no point in denying it; even when she had shut everyone else out, Will had remained.

She gave a half-shrug. "In small doses."

He rested his chin on top of her shoulder. "Do you want me to call him?"

"No, I'll do it." She turned her face towards him, and the tip of her nose brushed against his. "Did he really tell you that you needed to step up if you wanted his blessing?"

Henry chuckled. "Yeah."

"God…" She turned away again and leant her head back against his shoulder. "As if we needed his blessing anyway."

"I did get his blessing," Henry said, "before I asked you to marry me."

"Really?" She looked up at him. There was genuine surprise on her face.

"Of course." His grip around her waist tightened. "If I was going to take over as the most important man in your life, it only seemed proper."

"Was he a total pain about it?"

"No. I think he knew that I'd do my best to look after you." And he had, though for a while it felt as though his best would never be enough. A smile crept across his lips. "Though when I told him that I want to marry you and have babies with you, he did say that I was crazy."

"Maybe you are." She let the words hang in the air for a moment. Then she twisted in his arms to face him again, hips to hips, her hands against his chest. Her eyes sparkled. "We do make beautiful babies though."

"We do." He leant in until his lips were just a hair's breadth from hers. His hands slid down to the small of her back, and she arched into his touch. His heart thumped beneath her palm. And all he could think about was her body beneath his, so soft, so vital, so alive.

"Thank you." She breathed against him, her eyes shut. And she touched her lips to his, just the flutter of a kiss before she eased back and nuzzled his nose.

"For what?" He nipped at the corners of her mouth.

"For being you." Her hands glided up his chest; one caressed his neck, the other teased the hair at his nape. "For putting up with me." She kissed along his jawline, the trace of her saliva eliciting a sting in the cool air, mingling with the heat as she set his body alight.

He swallowed. "It's my pleasure." And it took all that he had not to spin her round and pin her between himself and the counter. That wasn't what this was. It was about testing the waters, reconnecting, letting her be in control. "Thank you for being you, and for driving me crazy in every possible way."

She pulled back, and he was struck by worry that he had said the wrong thing, but then he caught the dark glint in her eye. And in that moment, she was herself again. Elizabeth Adams McCord. His best friend, his partner, his wife. A slight blush rose through her cheeks, and she bit her lip. "Make love to me?"

"Always." And as they stumbled towards the stairs, wrapped up in each other arms, he knew that no matter what obstacles they had yet to overcome, he was him and she was her and everything was going to be okay.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

 **D + Three Months**

 **Elizabeth**

Elizabeth smoothed down her dress. It was black, sleeveless, figure-hugging. _Classic_ , Alison had said. Whatever it was, it would have to do. She took one last look in the mirror, tugged on the black patent stilettos that Alison had insisted would complete the look, and then stepped out into her office. Henry and Will stood up from the couch, both smiling at her. She shook her hands out. Her palms were already sweaty and the afternoon had barely begun.

The knot of Will's tie was askew. She frowned at him. There was laid-back, and there was just plain scruffy. "Come here." She waved him towards her.

"What did I do?" He asked as he stepped forward. And as Elizabeth's hands went to adjust his tie, he made a quick retreat. "What is it with you and ties?"

"Don't be such a baby." Elizabeth folded her arms across her chest. If only Will weren't so unkempt, then she wouldn't have to tidy him up. "Henry doesn't mind when I straighten _his_ tie. Do you, Henry?"

Henry's mouth opened, his eyes wide. He looked like a fish gasping for air. Will shot Henry a look, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "Tell her, Henry."

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed on her husband. Tell her what? Henry glanced back and forth between the two Adams siblings, stuck in the midst of their glares. Henry's gaze finally settled on her. He spoke in a hushed voice. "Babe, that's because when you adjust my tie, you slip your leg between my thighs."

Will laughed, and Elizabeth's cheeks flushed. She pointed an accusatory finger at her brother. "You are so immature."

There was a knock at the door, and Blake popped his head through the gap. "Ma'am, your car is ready and the staff are waiting."

Henry let out a sigh of relief. "Thank God."

Blake paused, his gaze darting between the three of them, questioning what exactly he had just interrupted. Elizabeth motioned for him to continue. "And Stevie called to say that Alison and Jason are already there."

"Thanks, Blake." Elizabeth turned to Will. "You, go." She turned to Henry. "And you, I won't be going anywhere near your thighs ever again."

Henry held his hands up. "Hey, I wasn't complaining. I just don't think it's an appropriate reference for your brother." She shrugged on her jacket, and he stepped closer and smoothed out the collar for her. Then he tucked her hair behind her ear. "How are you feeling?"

She fanned herself with her hands. "Like I've been doing sprint drills non-stop for the last hour." His face creased with concern. She reached up and cupped his cheek, then pressed a quick kiss to his lips. "I'll be fine." Then she kissed him again, lingering this time, because she could.

"You sure you don't want one of your meds?" His hand went to his jacket pocket but stalled as she shook her head.

"No. I want to be focused." She looped her arm through his, and as they walked towards the door, she leant her head against his shoulder. "Please keep Will under control."

Henry chuckled. "I'll do my best." He looked down at her. "Have you told him yet?"

"No," Elizabeth said, "but I suspect he knows."

Will and Blake were waiting for them at the elevator. Henry stood next to Elizabeth as they rode down, and when the bell dinged for the ground floor, he laced his fingers through hers and raised their intertwined hands to his lips. "I'm with you, always."

* * *

 **Henry**

Henry held onto Elizabeth's hand throughout the drive. She stared out of the window, her gaze distant. And his heart thudded against his ribs. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe they should wait. But she had insisted, this was what she wanted, and there was no denying that she was better now, at least ninety-five percent of what she had been before. He squeezed her hand, and she turned to him. She smiled, and her eyes shone. His heart stilled. She was okay.

Her staff had gathered outside the entrance to the White House. Jay stepped forward to open the door for her, and then offered her his hand. Henry scooted out behind her, whilst Will climbed out the opposite side and strode round. Elizabeth took a deep breath. Everyone watched her. Then she nodded. Jay motioned to the door. "After you, ma'am."

Elizabeth stepped forward, her heels tapping against the floor, and her staff folded in behind. As soon as she strode through the door, she picked up the pace. Any hint of hesitation was gone. She held her head high, and the way she strutted sent a tingle of warmth through Henry's whole body. He smiled to himself. That was his wife.

Their formation stormed through the corridors towards the presentation room, the same room where she had been shot just three months before. Everyone that they passed stepped to the side and bowed their heads to Elizabeth, and in her wake, the hallways filled with the buzz of awe. She was a force to be reckoned with. And from the look in Will's eyes, he saw it too. Perhaps for the first time, she wasn't just Lizzie. She was formidable; a most singular woman.

Elizabeth came to a stop outside the presentation room. The doors were shut, and security agents stood on either side. One of them spoke into the microphone concealed at his wrist as the group arrived. Then he nodded to Elizabeth. "Ma'am, the president is on his way."

She turned to her staff, who had formed an arc to the right of the doors. But then she did a double take, looking down the corridor, beyond where Henry and Will stood. Her face brightened, and Henry swivelled round too. Stevie, Alison and Jason were beaming back at them. They joined the gathering, filling the gap between Henry and the semicircle of staff.

"Ma'am," the agent said, "three minutes until POTUS arrives."

"Right." Elizabeth spun back to the staff. "Any last minute stuff?"

They shook their heads, but then Kat raised her hand. "Ma'am, if I may?" She paused a second before continuing. "Take your jacket off." Elizabeth's expression faltered. But Kat insisted. "Show them that you've got nothing to hide."

Elizabeth glanced to Henry, and he nodded and gave her a reassuring smile. So she shucked off the jacket and tossed it to Blake, who caught it with a kind of expert flair. Then she pivoted on her heels, her gaze sweeping around the arc. "How do I look?"

There was a chorus of: _great, perfect, strong, confident_. But Henry couldn't resist, and his voice drowned out all the rest. "Hot."

She spun to him, her lips curled into a wicked smile. But then her expression dimmed a little as the agent announced, "One minute, ma'am." And voices and footsteps echoed down the hall. Her fingers quivered at her side, and Henry held his hand out to her. She stepped up to him, and everyone around them fell away into a blur.

"You can do this," he said, and he stared deep into her eyes, as if he could imprint the mantra on her mind. He ran his hands up her bare arms and around her shoulder blades, her skin shivering beneath his touch. She nodded. He slid his hands down to her waist, holding her tight, and he would have kissed her scars if he could. And with her bottom lip pinned between her teeth, she nodded again, as if she knew that too. "And you are totally hot."

She laughed, and the tension snapped. She rested her forehead against his and nuzzled his nose before drawing him into a sweet kiss. "I love you."

"I love you too." And he dared to slide one hand further. He pinched her bum, and she squeaked. "Give them hell, Madam Sexytary."

"Ew, Dad!" Stevie groaned. "You had to make it gross."

At the same time, Will said, "Guys, there are people here. Can you please keep it PG?"

And in the background, Matt muttered, "How come he's allowed to say it?"

"Because he's her husband," Daisy whispered back, "and anyone else is just a lech."

Elizabeth stepped out of Henry's arms. She smoothed down her dress, though there were no creases. Perhaps she just needed to do something with her hands. "I'll see you after," she said, and then she looked past him.

"Bess." Conrad's voice came from just behind him, and he stepped aside. It was time. Conrad placed one hand against Elizabeth's elbow. "Are you sure you're ready? I have a back up speech."

"I'm sure, sir," Elizabeth said.

"Right then—" Conrad nodded to the security "—let's do this."

The doors opened. Inside row upon row of journalists twisted in their seats, and from the edges, cameras flashed in anticipation. Someone announced, "The President of the United States, Conrad Dalton, and the Secretary of State, Elizabeth McCord." At Elizabeth's name, a buzz of whispers rose up from the crowd, people craned their necks towards the doors, and the video cameras at the front swivelled round.

Conrad placed his hand against Elizabeth's back, just below her shoulder blades. As they stepped up to the door, Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder. Henry winked at her, and she flashed him a smile. Then Conrad whisked her away towards the stage.

Elizabeth's staff filed in first. They stood at the back, to the right of the door. Will, Henry and the kids followed, and stood on the left. When President Dalton took the podium, the crowd fell into silence. Cameras snapped away, most directed at Elizabeth, but neither she nor Conrad acknowledged them.

"Three months ago, in this very room, Secretary of State Elizabeth McCord was shot." Conrad's voice carried over the room. Stevie slipped her hand into Henry's and she clung tight. Henry squeezed back. It was okay. Everything was okay. "It was a close call, and it is testament to Secretary McCord's strength and tenacity that she's standing here with me today. During her recovery there have been rumours of political instability and speculation that she is going to step down from her post. That's why we arranged this briefing today, to give the Secretary the chance to address these rumours herself. So, without further ado, I give you Elizabeth McCord."

Conrad stepped back, and as he switched places with Elizabeth, he briefly laid his hand against her arm. The crowd were silent, except for the constant clicks and whirrs of camera shutters. Elizabeth held onto the edge of the podium, and Henry wanted nothing more than to be there with her, to be the support that she clung to. She took a deep breath and looked out across the crowd. Her gaze found his for a fraction of a second, and the corners of her lips lifted. Her body relaxed, and she began.

"Good afternoon. I never thought I'd say this without being flippant, but it's a genuine pleasure to see you all today." She smiled, and her whole face lit up. A murmur of laughter rippled through the crowd and the tension in the room eased a little. "Many of you were in this room when I was shot. Unfortunately, so was my eldest daughter."

Stevie's grip on Henry's hand tightened, and he remembered the first time he had taken her on a rollercoaster and how he felt sure she would crush his bones, yet hadn't complained because nothing was more sacred than his daughter trusting him to protect her.

"But, every 'unfortunately' has to be followed by a 'fortunately'," Elizabeth continued, "and for me, that 'fortunately' is that my brother was here too." Henry glanced at Will; he was staring straight ahead, eyes fixed on Elizabeth. "When my brother and I were teenagers, our parents were killed in a car crash. My brother was in the vehicle at the time."

Elizabeth shook her head slightly, and her gaze dipped for a moment before returning to the audience. "He was uninjured, but unable to help them. He has since told me that that was the day that he decided to become a doctor. And he did." Elizabeth looked to Will, and as she spoke, Will's expression softened. "He has travelled the world, flown into war zones, been the first to arrive at humanitarian crises. He has worked miracles with only the most basic of resources, and under conditions that none of us can even begin to imagine." A smile crept across her face. "So attending a scene in the White House with none other than the President of the United States himself to assist must have made a nice change."

The whole room laughed. And even Will chuckled. Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder to Conrad, and he smiled. When Elizabeth turned back to the front, her expression had sobered. She found Will again, and spoke directly to him. "If I had to be shot, I'm grateful that fate also conspired to place my brother with me when it happened. Without him, I wouldn't be here now."

Will pinched the bridge of his nose, then shook his head and lifted his gaze again. A stubborn look came over him, a refusal to let himself cry. Henry placed one hand on Will's shoulder, and he squeezed. _Thank you_.

In the pause, the audience held to their perfect silence. They swayed forward, awaiting Elizabeth's next words. "When I realised that I had been shot, and realised that I was going to die, I thought about my children—my three beautiful, intelligent, compassionate children—and how I wouldn't get to see them grow up, all the amazing things they would do."

Stevie, Alison and Jason slung their arms around one another, pulling each other close. A single unit. Their children. Their beautiful babies. Henry let go of Stevie's hand and wrapped his arm around their shoulders. What if he had been the only one at Jason's graduation, the only one at their weddings, the only one to hold his and Elizabeth's first grandchild? His chest clenched, and it felt like his heart might break.

"I thought about my brother, and how I had promised to always be there for him. After our parents died, we only had each other. What with his job, I always thought I would be the one left behind; I never would have wished that on him." This time when Henry glanced to Will, there was a stray tear rolling down his cheek. How many times had Elizabeth shared her fears that something would happen to her brother? Even after Iran, she had never considered that she might be the one in danger; or at least not aloud.

"I thought about my husband…" there was a slight hitch in Elizabeth's voice, and the tightness in Henry's chest grew, a fist clenched around his heart "…about how I had promised we would grow old together, share our lives together, be together always…and I felt a huge regret that I had never found the words to explain quite how much he means to me." Elizabeth's gaze found Henry's. Her eyes shone, and they said: _I love you, I love you, I love you._ Henry blinked, his wife turning into a blur as his own tears fell. Each one saying: _I love you too._

Elizabeth let out a shaky breath. She hadn't shared her speech with anyone, not even Henry. Had he known quite how draining it would be, he would have asked her to wait. No, he would have stood up there with her.

Her gaze returned to the audience, and something about her shifted. She stood up straighter, her tone more confident now. "Then I thought about the world too. What would be my legacy? How many things did I want to change, but would never have the chance to?" Her voice projected across the room, as commanding as Conrad's had been. "My husband believes in God. I don't know what exactly I believe in, but I do believe that we are all here for a purpose, and perhaps the reason that I survived, apart from my brother's _mad skills_ —" her smile lit up her eyes and the room laughed once again; Will and the kids chuckled along with them too "—was because I still have a purpose to fulfil. Something, or someone, wants me to do more."

Her eyes sharpened as she leant in to the microphone, and a buzz of anticipation whipped through the room. "During my recovery there have been rumours that I will be stepping down from my position as Secretary of State. I'm here to tell you today that I have no such intentions." She shook her head, and her hair shimmered under the lights. His angel, her halo. "There's too much in the world still left for me to change."

Will nudged Henry and whispered into his ear. "Did I save the life of the next President of the United States?"

Henry smiled back at him. "Are you surprised?"

Will shrugged. "By Lizzie?" He pulled a face. "Never."

Cameras circled closer now, everyone vying for the best shot as Elizabeth concluded her speech. "I hope to continue my role in this administration, and when it comes time, I fully intend to follow in President Dalton's footsteps and to secure a legacy that I—no—that this country can be proud of. Thank you for your time." She bowed her head and then looked down at the audience.

Hands shot out of the crowd, and pens and notepads waved back and forth. Elizabeth pointed to a woman in the front row. The journalist stood up. "Madam Secretary, can you just confirm, will you be running for president?"

The room plunged into silence, a collective holding of breath as they awaited her word. Elizabeth clutched the edges of the podium. Her gaze darted straight to Henry's. She smiled, and with her eyes still locked on his, she said, "Yes, I will."

Henry's chest swelled with pride. And he wanted nothing more than to tell the whole world that that woman was his wife, that she was the one that he loved.

"President Dalton, do you endorse her?" The same reporter asked.

Conrad looked to Elizabeth as he spoke. "I do, and I am certain when I say that you won't find a more worthy candidate." Dozens more hands shot up, but Conrad made a gesture for silence. "That'll be all for now. Thank you for your time."

Elizabeth and Conrad turned away from the podium, but then the same journalist from the front row stood up. Henry frowned, and his skin bristled. What was happening? The journalist set down her notebook on the chair, faced Elizabeth and started to clap. A look of surprise flashed across Elizabeth's face as she turned towards the audience. One by one, the other reporters stood up too. They joined in the applause. And soon the whole room was standing and clapping, including President Dalton, the staff, their family. Henry's chest felt as though it might burst. All these people; they were all behind her, his wife. He lifted his fingers to his lips and whistled. Elizabeth looked straight at him, and a blush crept over her cheeks. And as Will whistled too and the children whooped, she rolled her eyes and buried her laugh in her hand.

Henry stepped into the middle of the aisle, and he held his hand out to her. She glanced at Conrad, who nodded, then she climbed down from the stage and strode towards him. All heads turned, following her every move. She placed her hand in his, her fingers trembling, and with his eyes locked on hers, he led her from the room.

As soon as they entered the corridor and escaped the glare of the cameras, Elizabeth sucked in a deep breath and fanned her face with her hands. She stumbled slightly in her heels, and Henry caught hold of her. "You okay?" She nodded, but she was still shaking. "Come here." Henry guided her into one of the side rooms.

It was a small office, like the one that they had used for Murphy Station. Henry closed the door behind them, and Elizabeth kicked off her shoes. She rested her back against the wall, slid down to the floor and placed her head between her knees; just like she would in their panic attack drill. Henry sat beside her, his own heart pounding. She might be herself again, but she would always carry these traces with her. "Breathe, babe." He rubbed her back, drawing circles that grew wider and wider. "Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Exhale."

She turned her head sideways and caught his gaze. His hand paused. Then she shuffled closer to him and rested her head over his heart. He wrapped his arm around her and traced lines up and down her arm. Goosebumps erupted under his touch. "I can't believe I just did that," she said, and she let out a low laugh. It reverberated through him, a warm buzz that nourished his soul.

He kissed the top of her head. "That was a great speech, babe. Everyone loves you." His fingers stilled against her arm. "I love you."

She nuzzled against his chest. "I love you too." Her fingers danced over his shirt, rousing embers on the skin beneath. "I meant what I said. Even in a hundred lifetimes, I don't think I'd find the words to express what you mean to me."

"You don't need words. The way you look at me, the way you hold me, the way you make love to me…I know."

She sat up and knelt so that she was facing him. Her lips were parted, her eyes dark, though they still held that glimmer. With her hands on his waist, she steadied herself and leant closer and closer until their lips finally brushed. She smiled against him and made a humming noise that rippled through him and stirred the pit of his stomach. "Will you still find me attractive if I'm president?"

" _When_ ," he said, "And of course. I love it when you're positions of power."

She laughed, and her breath tickled his lips. "Oh really?"

"Mmhm." His hands skimmed down her thighs, then teased up the hem of her dress so that he could pull her astride his lap. His fingers grazed her skin and came to rest over her bottom. He squeezed, and she gave a sharp intake of breath.

"There are people outside." But she toyed with his tie, pulling him closer.

"You do realise that when you're president," he said between kisses, "we'll have to christen every room."

"That's a lot of rooms."

"Best make a start then." And he nudged the hem higher.

"Mom? Dad?" Stevie's voice called through the door. "Are you in there?"

"Hold that thought," Elizabeth said, and she rolled her hips against him. He stifled a moan against her shoulder. "Just a second," she called out. Then she kissed him again before she rose to her feet and offered him her hand.

"Give me a minute," he said, and she raised her eyebrows at him. "What? I told you I love it when you're in positions of power."

"I'll remember that the next time you pin me to something." She tugged the hem of her dress down and pulled on her heels.

"Well, I love doing that too." He eased up from the floor. Then he caught her hand and pulled her close, so that her body was flush to his. "You're the boss at work; sometimes it's nice to know that, at home, I'm in charge, that I'm the only one who can make you lose control."

Her hands glided up his chest, smoothing out the creases of his shirt. Then she straightened his tie, her leg pressing between his thighs. "Noted, Dr McCord." And she lifted her lips to his, letting her kiss linger.

* * *

 **Elizabeth**

Elizabeth opened the office door. Stevie was waiting outside. She had her phone in her hand, but she stuffed it into her pocket as she looked up at her parents. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah." Elizabeth nodded. "I just felt a little shaky." And when Stevie's brow pinched with concern, she reached out to stroke her daughter's cheek. "I'm fine now."

Stevie nodded, though she still looked unsure. "Um…Russell asked me to bring you both to the Oval Office. He said that President Dalton wanted to see you."

Elizabeth placed her hand against her daughter's back as they walked, her fingers tangling in her long hair. When Stevie was younger, she would beg Elizabeth to brush and braid her hair. Elizabeth did, when she had time, but now she wished she had savoured those moments, not knowing how fleeting they were. "How was it for you, being back in that room?"

Stevie shrugged. "It felt strange, I guess. But it's nice to have some happy memories there too." She gave Elizabeth a small smile. "It felt like closure in a way."

"That's what I hoped." Elizabeth stopped and pulled Stevie to one side. She stroked Stevie's hair back from her face. "You know you can talk to me—" she glanced back at Henry, who hovered a couple of paces away "—or your dad, or even your uncle. We're all still processing—"

"Mom, I know." Stevie's eyes darted down the corridor. "But right now, the president's waiting for you."

"Your happiness is more important to me than being on time."

"I am happy, Mom." And Stevie smiled, a genuine smile that lit up her eyes and made her look younger than her years and carefree again. "Seeing all those people, the way they look at you…Seeing how strong you are…That makes me happy."

"Good," Elizabeth said. She took another step, then stopped again. She clutched her daughter's hand. "But if you weren't happy—"

"Mom," Stevie said, her tone sharpening. "Just stop."

Elizabeth looked from her daughter to her husband. With their shifty looks and their eagerness to get her down the hall, something was wrong. She held her hands up. "Okay. What is it? What's going on?" Her eyes narrowed on Henry. He was easier to read, though perhaps less likely to crack.

"Babe, come on." Henry laced his fingers through hers and tugged her along the corridor. "Not everything is a conspiracy, but at least we know where Jason gets it from."

When they reached the office, Stevie stepped aside. She looked to Elizabeth and gestured to the door. "After you."

Elizabeth turned to Henry and arched her eyebrows at him. "This better not be what I think it is."

Henry smirked, and she wanted nothing more than to kiss that look off his face. "In you go." He placed his hands on her hips and nudged her towards the door.

Elizabeth took a deep breath and then opened the door. As soon as she did, she was hit by a wave of applause. Her body froze, and she relied on Henry's touch to guide her into the room. Conrad and Russell were stood near the desk; her staff had formed a semicircle behind the sofa furthest from the door; Stevie slipped past her parents and joined Alison and Jason in front of the near sofa; Will hovered between the desk and the door that led to the patio outside. They were all clapping, all beaming at her. And her heart pounded in time.

"Surprise," Henry whispered in her ear, and his voice shivered down her spine. She leant back against his chest, and his arms wrapped around her waist. If it wasn't for him holding her up, she might have fallen. He linked his hands together, resting them against her stomach, and she covered his fingers with her own.

When the clapping stopped, Matt stepped forward out of the semicircle of staff, bringing himself to the back of the sofa. He cleared his throat and pulled out a notecard from inside his jacket. Elizabeth forced a smile to cover her wince. What, exactly, had they planned?

"Ma'am," Matt began, "my job is to write speeches for you. Unfortunately, you decided to write your own speech today. Fortunately, that gave me time to write this one. Unfortunately, your speech was amazing, I couldn't have put it better myself, and now I fear my role is redundant. Fortunately, I heard there's a new opening for a speech writer at the White House."

The whole room laughed. Elizabeth grinned, this time for real, and Henry's chuckle reverberated through her back.

"As I said, I write speeches for you, but now I get the privilege to write a speech addressed to you." Matt adjusted his glasses and looked straight at her. "And it is a privilege, ma'am. It's a privilege just to know you, to work with you, to be a part of all the amazing things you do." He glanced back down at the notecard. "Edith Wharton wrote ' _There are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or mirror that reflects it._ '" He looked up at her again, and there was such sincerity in his face that a flush of warmth spread through her chest. "You are the candle, ma'am, and we are the mirrors. Without your light, none of our lives would shine half as bright."

Elizabeth gripped Henry's hands where they still rested against her lower abdomen. He squeezed his arms tighter around her and pressed a delicate kiss to the crown of her head.

Matt placed the notecard down on the cushion of the sofa. He stood taller, and his gaze locked on hers. "Ma'am, when I first met you, I was coasting, and not just at work. You saw the potential in me and you demanded more. You taught me the importance of the third draft, and now I ask more from myself in all areas of my life. Thank you."

Elizabeth's throat tightened. They were really going to do this. She nodded at Matt, the only acknowledgement she could muster if she was going to survive the rest of this without tears. Matt smiled at her and stepped back into the line.

"Ma'am." Daisy lifted her chin and steadied her gaze on Elizabeth. Her smile reached her eyes as she spoke. "The ' _strong female_ ' is a cliché, but to me, you are the epitome of a strong woman. The way you conduct yourself, your commitment to everything that you do, your willingness to admit your mistakes and to trust in others…You inspire me to be a better person, a better mother, and knowing that there are women like you fighting to make the world a safer, fairer place makes me feel good about raising my daughter in this world. Thank you."

Blake stepped forward next. His gaze fell to the tray of champagne glasses—already bubbling—that waited on the coffee table between the two sofas. When he lifted his gaze to Elizabeth's, his eyes were shining. Elizabeth was overcome by the urge to hug him, just as she had done when he had told her about his sexuality, but she had to wait, she had to give all of them their chance to say what they wanted to say. "Ma'am, you accept me unconditionally. Thank you."

And tears scalded Elizabeth's eyes. She blinked them back, and let out a shaky breath. Why did they have to do this to her?

"Ma'am." Kat gave her a warm smile. "When everyone else saw a mental breakdown, you saw fire and passion. You took a risk on me…and I can honestly say that I haven't felt the urge to throw a table at anyone since." Elizabeth let out a sharp laugh, and the sting of tears eased.

"Give her a week in office," Russell said. He held his hands on his hips as he perched against the edge of Conrad's desk. "There'll be furniture thrown all over the place."

Everyone laughed and the tension in the room lightened a little.

"Ma'am." Jay placed his hands on the back of one of the brown leather armchairs that stood at the end of the sofas. "You treat everyone that you meet as your equal. You encourage us to speak the truth, even when it's difficult to hear. Most politicians—most people—are are afraid of criticism. But not you. You not only welcome it, but you use it and you achieve these incredible things. It is an honour to know you. Thank you."

Elizabeth nodded, and in her mind, she echoed, _Thank you_. Thank you for calling her out and for speaking the truth when she needed to hear it the most.

"Elizabeth McCord." Russell dragged out her name, and Elizabeth's gaze darted to the opposite end of the room. This should be interesting. "You don't just think outside the box; you stamp on the box, flatten it, torch it and throw the remnants out with the trash." Another wave of laughter rippled through the room. Henry pressed a kiss to Elizabeth's shoulder, and his smile tingled through her skin. "You are a nightmare—" Russell folded his arms across his chest, then shrugged "—and you're brilliant." Elizabeth glowed; there could be no higher praise from Russell Jackson. "And my cardiologist will be grateful when I'm no longer party to your schemes."

Elizabeth grinned, a wicked smile. How Russell had hated her unconventional approach when she had first joined the State Department, and how—with time—he had become dependent upon and complicit in her _schemes_.

"Bess." Conrad buried his hands in his pockets. He leant back against the desk too, elbow to elbow with Russell. He looked at her with a glimmer of affection, and it was a look that reminded her of her father. She would never admit that to anyone; though Henry probably knew. "I've known you for the best part of thirty years; as a colleague, as a friend, as a confidant." Conrad's gaze turned distant for a moment, and he smiled to himself. "When I first met you, I remember thinking: _This one is special_." Henry's arms squeezed her tight, as if to second that sentiment. "You are resourceful, kind, sharp—so sharp—and a true patriot. Even after all these years, you never cease to amaze me. When everyone else was concerned with popularity and optics, you pushed me to do the right thing. You've made me a better person for it—a president with a conscience—and you've given me a legacy that I can truly say that I'm proud of. Thank you."

 _Thank you_ , Elizabeth mouthed back, her mouth too dry, her throat too tight for words. And as her children, stood in a line against the couch in front of her, turned their gaze from Conrad to herself, her heart clenched. This was only going to get more difficult.

"Mom," Alison began, and tears prickled in Elizabeth's eyes. She clung to Henry's hands, still knotted against her stomach, and she leant her further into his chest, trusting her weight to him. "You take the time to see the world through my eyes. You show me that our imperfections make us human. You make me feel cherished." And that's all Elizabeth had ever wanted, to make her children feel cherished. "Thank you."

"Mom." Stevie's eyes were glistening, and Elizabeth willed her children not to cry, because as soon as their tears started, hers would too. "Despite all my mistakes and all my false starts, you've always stood by me and supported me and listened to me without judgement. You make me feel that anything is possible. You love me at my worst, and you push me to achieve my best. And when things go wrong, you're always there with a tub of ice cream." Stevie gave her a toothy smile, and Elizabeth let out a soft chuckle. "If I got to choose my parents, every single time and without hesitation, I'd pick you."

"Mom." Jason's lips tugged into a small smile, and Elizabeth's heart fluttered. Her baby boy. How she longed to see the man he would grow up to be. "You've always made us your priority. Even when the world is falling apart or we're on the verge of nuclear destruction, you put our lives before your own." Did they know that she had refused to leave them, that day at the arcade? "I'm grateful for everything that you've done for us, for the family that you've given us. Not every child is lucky enough to have a mother like you." His smile sharpened. "Though perhaps you should rethink some of the motherly wisdom you've imparted to us over the years."

"I should fly like Pegasus," Stevie said through a broad grin.

"A motorcade isn't a fashion statement," Alison said.

"Sex kills." Jason smirked. The room buzzed with laughter. Warmth rose up through Elizabeth's cheeks, and she hid her smile beneath her hand.

But now there was only Henry and Will left to go. And as her husband's hands shifted to her hips and coaxed her into turning around, her heart pounded so hard that its beats merged into a thrum. She had survived the others without a tear falling, but how was she meant to face her husband without her defences coming undone.

Henry's eyes were damp, but their corners crinkled with his smile. "Babe." With his hands on her waist, he brushed his thumbs over the juts of her hipbones. Her stomach fluttered in response. "When we first met, it was at a political ethics seminar. I was young and arrogant and I had a point to prove. After I had said my piece, this stunning blonde who I had been eager to impress raised her hand and said: Nice argument, but can I give you some feedback?"

There was a titter from the room behind her. And the corners of her lips curved upwards.

"Still far too sure of myself, and perhaps little beguiled by her sweet, unassuming smile, I said: Go ahead. But I wasn't prepared for what happened next." He shook his head to himself. "You systematically tore apart my points one by one and totally eviscerated me in front of the whole class." The room laughed properly now, and Henry's eyes shone with both tears and laughter. She opened her mouth to protest— _eviscerate_ was a little strong—but Henry brought one finger to her lips and hushed her. It was his turn to talk.

"At the end, you turned to me and said: Any thoughts? And I said the only coherent thought that I had left, which was: Will you have dinner with me?" The room laughed again, and Henry looked past his wife to address them. "Spoiler alert: She said yes."

His gaze returned to Elizabeth's. "I took you out the following evening and for the whole meal you talked politics to me. I don't think I got a word in, which is probably for the best because all I could think about was how out of my depth I was." He tucked her hair behind her ear, then trailed his fingertips down her neck, over her shoulder to the bare flesh of her arm, and then down, down, down until his fingers laced through hers. "But listening to you talk that night, with such insight and passion and hope, I knew that one day you were going to change the world." He tugged on her hand, and the pull echoed through her heart. "I didn't know how or when, but I knew that I had to be a part of it, because you had already changed my world." And he drew her hand up to his chest and placed her palm over his heart. His pulse raced beneath her touch. "You are my life, Elizabeth, my light in the dark. Every day that I wake up with you in my arms, I say thank you for the blessing that is you."

And the tears that brimmed in her eyes welled over and tumbled down her cheeks. She smiled up at her husband, and it felt as though her chest might burst. What had she done to deserve him? How could they have been so close to being parted when they were bound by such love?

Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder, her gaze skimming over all the faces in the room. "I'm going to kiss him now, so if you don't like it, turn away."

"Just keep it clean," Alison said. "Please."

"Yeah," Stevie said. "Don't get all… _handsy_."

"She's talking to you, Dad," Jason said.

Henry's chuckle buzzed through Elizabeth's palm as she turned back to face him. Her eyes locked on his, and keeping one hand on his heart, she reached the other up to cup his jaw. Then she leant in. Her lips brushed over his, lightly at first, but then his fingers threaded through her hair, cradling the back of her head and drawing her in. His other hand fell to the small of her back and urged her closer. With her body flush against his, tingling with his warmth, she sucked on his bottom lip, and his lips parted. Her tongue touched his in a promise of more to come.

At the wolf whistle from behind them, they smiled against each other, and Elizabeth drew back. A flush of blood heated her cheeks. She pecked Henry's lips and drummed her fingertips over his heart. "I love you."

His smile widened. He nuzzled her nose and kissed her again. "I love you too."

Will cleared his throat. "As immune as I have become to the two of you and your public displays of affection, I have something that I would like to say too." Elizabeth turned to face him where he stood near the door to the patio, a smirk plastered across his face. Henry's hand remained against the small of her back, his fingertips fluttering against her. "Lizzie, as my big sister, you've always been there to nag me, to point out my many shortcomings, and to lecture me on my lack of direction in life." Elizabeth snorted. Trust Will to take the opposite tack to everyone else. "Despite our constant bickering, there is one instance that I am thankful for." His expression sobered, and the lightness in Elizabeth's heart dropped. "When I was ready to flunk out of med school, you had such a go at me that I decided to knuckle down and graduate just to prove you wrong. I am grateful that you wouldn't get off my back, because it meant that this time, when it mattered, I knew what to do." His eyes glistened, and he shook his head to himself. "I never would have forgiven myself if I had watched your last breaths too."

 _And the knock at the door that summoned Elizabeth from her studies should have hailed her family with her strawberry ice cream in hand, but instead it brought a police officer, and Will huddled in a blanket, and words that no book would enable her to understand._

Elizabeth wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, and a sob shuddered through her chest. Henry squeezed her shoulders, but rather than pulling her towards him, into the warmth and safety of his arms, he pushed her away towards Will. And Will, with his own tears streaking lines down his face, opened his arms to her. She stepped into them, and they clung to one another as fiercely as they had on that harrowing day.

When they parted, Will gave her a watery smile. "You know that I love you."

Elizabeth nodded, and she smiled back. "And, even though you infuriate me, I love you." Then she turned to her children, the grandchildren that her parents would never meet, and she beckoned them closer. "Come here. I need a hug." And they swamped her in their arms. She placed kisses to their foreheads, then mouthed at Will, "Thank you." Thank you that her children would grow up with their mother alive in this world.

"If everyone would like to grab a glass," Matt said, and he and Blake picked up the champagne flutes from the coffee table and passed them along.

The kids and Will leant against the back of the nearest sofa; Conrad and Russell stood in front of the desk; and the staff gathered around the coffee table. They all turned to face Elizabeth. Her heart pounded. But then Henry's arm slipped around her waist and he pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. A glow rose up through her chest and she relaxed into his touch. He let go again and squeezed in between Stevie and Alison. Everyone held their glasses poised. Elizabeth fiddled with the stem of her own.

"Ma'am," Matt said, and her gaze jumped to him, "we all know that surviving was just the first step, and what we want you to know is that we're here, walking alongside you, and it's not because it's our job or that we feel obligated in any way; it's because we feel honoured to reflect your light on the world." He nodded to Conrad.

Conrad raised his glass. "To Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth," the room chorused.

Elizabeth caught Henry's gaze. He was smiling at her, glass raised, such wonder in his eyes. She blushed, and his smile broadened into a grin. He tipped back his glass, and she did the same, the fizz of bubbles a rush to her head.

"In case anyone's wondering," Daisy said, and she gestured to the tablet that she clutched in one hand, "hashtag Madam President is trending across social media. And requests for interviews are already flooding in." She smiled up at Elizabeth. "The public love you, ma'am."

* * *

Whilst the others mingled, Will caught Elizabeth's eye and tilted his head towards the patio door. It was ajar, and the net curtain billowed and fell as puffs of breeze blew through. Elizabeth followed him outside. The bite of early evening air prickled over her skin and goosebumps shivered up her arms. Will leant against one of the white columns, facing out across the gardens. He turned to Elizabeth as she joined him, then shrugged off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders.

He looked back to the rose bushes, their petals dimmed beneath the fading sky. The sound of laughter drifted out from the Oval Office, jarring with the stillness that hung over the patio. "There's a reason that we don't do all that touchy-feely stuff," Will said.

Elizabeth's lips quirked. "It's brutal, I know." She pulled Will's jacket tighter around her as another gust tumbled along the path. She took a deep breath, the air was crisp and smokey and it burned through her lungs. "But it's cathartic too."

Will nodded, and they settled back into silence. "So POTUS, huh?" He raised his eyebrows at her, and she shrugged. Was it that unexpected? "I can't really outdo you on that."

Elizabeth nudged him. "It's not a competition, you know?"

"Really? I must have missed that memo," Will said, and she gave a sharp laugh, a burst of joy. "But given that I saved your life, I reckon I deserve at least fifty percent of the credit for everything you do."

Elizabeth folded her arms across her chest. "Oh, you reckon, do you?" Will smirked back at her, and it struck how normal this all felt. "I'll give you that, but only if you take fifty percent of the blame too." She dragged the toe of one stiletto across the paving, pushing the gravel back into the channel between the grass and the stone slabs.

"Nah, I think I'll pass." He shook his head and looked down to the ground. "They would have been so proud of you…I'm proud of you."

She bumped her elbow against his arm. "I thought we didn't do that touchy-feely stuff?"

"It's not really our style," Will said, then he shrugged and turned his face to hers, "but I guess we need to from time to time." His gaze sailed past her, and his expression lightened as he nodded towards the patio door. "I think there's someone there who wants to get _handsy_ with you."

Elizabeth spun round, then blushed. Henry was hovering just outside the door. She beckoned him over. His gaze flitted between the two of them. "I'm not interrupting, am I?"

Will shook his head. "I ought to be heading back anyway." He laid his hand against Elizabeth's forearm and pressed his cheek to hers. She hugged him, but then he whispered in her ear, the smirk seeping into his voice, "Remember: Sex kills."

She drew back, eyebrows arched, and swatted his chest. "You can't just be nice, can you?"

"You wouldn't have me any other way."

She shook her head to herself. God, he was a pain. But no, she wouldn't want anyone else for a brother. "Family dinner on Sunday?"

"We'll see you there." Will took his jacket from her, whilst Henry swept in to wrap her in his own. He nodded to Henry, and in her mind, she saw a flash of her wedding day, when Will had given her away. "Bye, Henry." And as Will walked along the patio to the door, he called back over his shoulder, "Don't get too _handsy_. A sex scandal would not be a great start to your campaign."

Elizabeth frowned, but Henry caught her in his arms and pulled her back against his chest. "Breathe, babe. Just let it go." She closed her eyes and sank into his embrace, her head resting against his shoulder. His arms formed a sling around her waist, and his lips brushed over her ear. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah…That was intense." Elizabeth let out a deep sigh, and when she breathed in again, her whole body felt lighter somehow. She twisted round in his arms, and laid her palms against his chest. She lifted her gaze to his eyes. "Thank you."

He nodded, and his eyes shone. "You're welcome."

She leant in, her lips parting, and his pulse thrummed beneath her fingertips. But then she pulled back sharply, her brow pinched. "I did not _eviscerate_ you."

Henry laughed, and his palms skimmed up and down her sides. "Babe, you were ruthless. _The foundations of your argument are based on intrinsic biases—_ " Elizabeth covered his mouth with her hand, and she kept it there until his lips stilled beneath her palm. His eyes glinted with the sparks thrown off from his hidden smile. When she let go, he said, "You are a remarkable woman, Elizabeth Adams McCord. I can't wait to see how you change the world."

She slid her hands around his neck, and her fingers toyed with the hair at his nape. Who knew if she would get the chance to enact her vision for the world, but there was one thing that was for sure—"No matter what happens, however crazy life gets, first and foremost, I am your wife."

Henry nodded and brought his forehead to rest against hers. "And for that I am eternally grateful." His lips quirked and a thrum of anticipation rushed through her. "Now, please can I take you home? Or else you really are going to have to score a key to the Lincoln Suite, because right now I want nothing more than to get _handsy_ with you."

* * *

Elizabeth rolled onto her side to face Henry, the air of their bedroom chill against her damp skin. She propped herself up on her elbow and watched her husband. Henry peeled back the sheet that draped over her. His eyes roamed down her body, his face filled with a kind of reverent lust. The corners of Elizabeth's lips curled upwards and she let out a soft laugh. "You've seen it all before."

Henry's gaze drifted back to meet hers. "It gets better every time." He cradled her head and pulled her to him, their lips meeting in a sweet kiss. Then he shifted, rolling on top of her. With his weight resting in his forearms, he stared down into her eyes. "God, what did I do to deserve you?"

She stroked the hair at the side of his head, her fingers drawing idle circles across his scalp. "I ask myself the same question every day." Her gaze flitted to his lips, then back to his eyes, dark and deep with yearning. She rolled her hips up to meet his. "Again?"

"Please." He pressed his forehead against hers, and one hand glided down over her chest to brush a thumb over the scar beneath her breast. "Thank you for coming back to me."

She held the back of his head in both hands, and touched her lips to his. Then she took a slow breath, drawing him in. "Thank you for waiting."

And his eyes burned with a different kind of passion now. "I'd wait a lifetime to spend just one second with you." His face softened, and his hand slid further down, his fingers caressing the skin of her waist. "I love you."

His words rang through her heart, and she nodded against him. She nuzzled the tip of her nose against his, and as the hitch in his breath trembled through her, she said, "Show me."

With his lips so close that his voice vibrated against her, he said, "I serve at your pleasure."

She laughed, a deep, throaty laugh. "Oh my God, Henry." She pushed him back just enough that she could see his grin and the laugher dancing in his eyes. She shook her head to herself, mussing her hair against the pillow. "You did not just say that."

"Just wait until I can call you ' _Madam President_ '; I'll have a whole host of new lines." He brushed the strands of hair back from her face and tucked them behind her ear. Then he dipped down, bringing them back to where they were before, with his lips hovering over hers.

She trailed her hands down his back, drawing him closer until she could feel the press of his body along the full length of her own. His warmth was her warmth, and their hearts beat a rhythm that was theirs and theirs alone. She met him with a languorous kiss. And when they parted, she whispered against him, "I love you, Henry McCord…even though your pick-up lines are kinda lame."

"They got me you, didn't they?" He tickled her hip, and she squirmed beneath him. Then his hands stilled, and his face grew earnest. "I've got you." He stared hard into her eyes, and it felt as though he were etching this moment onto her mind. "Always. I've got you."

 **The End**

* * *

I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I had a dream that someone read this story and it was adapted into a storyline on the show. But I'll settle for nice reviews. So if you have a moment, please let me know what you think. Thank you!


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